Burning Up (12 page)

“Sorcerers,” Olrick grunted from Raniero’s right. A tall, muscular man with an impressive belly, he was a skilled and wily warrior. Yet after twenty years fighting at Raniero’s side, his braided beard and long blond hair were dulling into gray. He would retire soon, and Raniero was not looking forward to it. “All wizards be mad. Years of sniffing potions and playing with spells. ’Tis no wonder their wits fly.”

Raniero lifted a dark brow. “
I
work spells.” His magic was not as strong as that of the border wizards, but he was no powerless peasant either.

“Ye be a vampire,” Olrick said, unperturbed. “Of course ye be mad.”

Suppressing a smile, Raniero flicked a rude finger at his friend. Olrick brayed his distinctive laugh and replied with a gesture even more obscene.

Raniero’s chuckle faded into a frown as a feeling of waiting evil brushed his vampire senses. He straightened in his saddle and drew rein as he scanned the surrounding hills. Bakur, his black warhorse, danced in unease, as if he, too, sensed a threat. Alerted, Raniero’s men pulled up and peered around.

At first his keen night vision detected nothing but the forested hills that surrounded them, silvered by moonlight and splashed with shadow.

Until something shimmered in a there-not-there flash that told him someone was moving behind a shielding spell. “Draw weapons!” Raniero bellowed, pulling his own great blade from its saddle sheath as he jerked Bakur to face the threat.

The attackers exploded into view—two Varil raiders afoot and one mounted fighter, all three plunging down the hill toward them. Raniero’s gut clenched in dread. Though the odds seemed to favor his party, the reptilian raiders were far stronger than humans—and far more vicious. Ten men were not enough to bring two Varil down.

With a hard jerk of one shoulder, Raniero shrugged his shield off his back and into his left hand, spurring his stallion forward. He had to take the Varil out quickly if his men were to survive. Bakur squealed an equine challenge as he broke into a pounding gallop up the hill.

To Raniero’s startled rage, the two raiders veered away from his charge. Before he could spin his horse after them, the third fighter bore down on him, bellowing a war cry.

Raniero swung his shield up to block the other’s sword as the horses collided with a meaty thud. His enemy’s blade struck the shield so hard Raniero felt the impact to his teeth. The man couldn’t be human, not with such strength.

Another vampire. He’d be no easy kill.

Behind him, one of Raniero’s men screamed, high and thin with agony and fear. The shriek died in a gurgle.

Raniero bared his fangs and swung his sword with all his supernatural strength. His foe caught the blow on his own kite-shaped shield, long sword arcing for Raniero’s head. Raniero ducked and kneed Bakur aside. The two mounts wheeled, slashing at each other with sharp hooves and snapping teeth.

Another death scream. It sounded like Olrick.

Fury and grief sizzling through him, Raniero forced himself to concentrate on his enemy—and prayed he’d finish the bastard off in time to save the rest of his men.

As she’d been ordered, Amaris hung back on the hillside, waiting for Tannaz’s signal. Her vantage point gave her a good view of the fight.

A bit too good, in fact. She really didn’t want to watch what the raiders’ axes were doing to those poor humans, so she focused her attention on the vampires.

Physically, the two were well-matched. Tannaz was a bit taller and thicker through the shoulders, but Raniero made up the difference in speed and agility. He clung to his beast by knees alone as the black warhorse battled Tannaz’s bay destrier.

Tannaz rose in his stirrups to better bring his blade down on his foe’s head. As Raniero blocked with his shield, his charger lunged and sank his teeth into the throat of Tannaz’s bay. The horse threw up his head and reared to escape, blood flying. Tannaz lost his balance, tumbling from the saddle to land on the leafy forest floor with a crunch of armor and bone.

“Ha!” Delighted, Amaris rose in her stirrups for a better view.

But her murdering sire had already rolled to his feet, scuttling away as his bay fled the black’s teeth and hooves. Wheeling the stallion after his foe, Raniero rained relentless blows down on Tannaz, forced the vampire to duck behind his shield and retreat. Steel rang on steel like the steady clang of a blacksmith’s hammer.

Amaris! Curse your eyes, aid me!
Her father’s mystical voice bellowed in her mind.

Die and be damned, murderer
, Amaris thought back.

If I do not return, Korban will slay Marin
.

Amaris’s lips curled back from her teeth.

R
aniero used his shield to block the vampire’s attempts to drive his sword into Bakur’s glossy black chest. Spotting an opening, Raniero brought his sword down in a furious overhand blow.

One of his men shrieked in mortal agony, but he didn’t dare look away from his enemy. A flash of white fluttered in his periphrial vision, but Raniero ignored that, too.

So when the beautiful woman suddenly appeared behind his opponent, he almost fell out of the saddle in sheer astonishment.

She was slim as a river reed, dressed in white silk so thin and fine, he could see the shadow of her nipples in the moonlight. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a cascade of dark curls, and her large eyes glowed a luminous green in her fine-boned face, like spring leaves illuminated by the sun.

A tattoo of a rose bloomed on the high rise of her cheek. He recognized the design instantly. What in the Red God’s name was a Blood Rose doing
here
?

Raniero’s vampire foe spun, spotted the Blood Rose, and leaped for her. Acting on sheer instinct, Raniero swung a leg over Bakur’s side and dove, plowing the vampire into the forest floor before he could grab the girl.

As they hit the ground, Raniero lifted his sword, meaning to end the bastard right there.

He did not see the Blood Rose lift her delicate hands and send a spell blast slamming into his helmeted head.

Blackness descended like a swinging fist.

T
annaz jerked free of the vampire’s dead weight and bounced to his feet, raising his sword as if to cleave his foe’s head off his shoulders.

“Korban wants him alive!” Amaris shouted, readying a stun spell if he did not heed her.

Her father hesitated, spat a curse, and aimed a kick at Raniero’s armored ribs instead. Panting, he gave her a smug, triumphant grin. “Well done, daughter.”

“I was tempted to let him kill you.”

“Vicious little harpy,” Tannaz said, almost fondly. “I shall have to teach you respect.”

She snorted contempt. “Oh, aye—when the Red God takes up needlework.”

Ignoring that, Tannaz looked around at the Varil. The two raiders had settled among Raniero’s fallen men to feed. Amaris refused to follow his gaze. The smell and sound of their feast was enough to make her stomach heave as it was.

“Feh,” he spat. “They’ll not be finished any time soon. We will move on ahead. I would have this one in a cell before your spell wears off.”

She nodded grimly and summoned the horses with a wave of her hand. The spell to bring the vampire’s black destrier under control took a bit more work, but soon the stallion was ambling along beside them, his master hanging bound and bewitched across his saddle.

At least it was over, Amaris comforted herself. She could take Marin and go.

If
Korban kept his word . . .

TWO

T
zira Castle occupied the rocky heights of the Korban Mountain Range, named for the wizard clan that had held this stretch of the border for the last three hundred years. The clan had been good caretakers for generations, maintaining their section of the mystical barrier that protected the kingdom of Ourania from its neighbor, Zahur, land of the Varil.

They’d known the price of failure all too well. The humans of Zahur had been hunted to the brink of extinction to feed the Varil’s vicious appetites.

Clan Korban had accordingly built Tzira into a sprawling fortress, its black stone seeming to grow from the granite flanks of the mountain, all massive, blocky towers and curving walls, riddled with arrow slits and glowing with torch spells. Even Amaris had to admit the place had a stark kind of beauty.

Too bad the latest Korban wizard had turned to treason.

Amaris strode into the great hall of Tzira Castle, her belly tight with a sickening combination of eagerness and dread.

Eagerness to see Marin again. Dread of what Korban might have done to her while Amaris was gone.
If she’s dead, I will blow this castle to fractured stone and pave the road to hell.

She would not survive the effort—Korban was too powerful—but she would make him regret his betrayal.

Heart in her throat, Amaris stalked through the mass of cowed servants and swaggering men-at-arms toward the dais where Korban sprawled on his lord’s seat. He smirked at her as she came, probably because Tannaz strode at her heels, carrying Raniero draped over his shoulder like a slain buck.

“Ama’is!” The little voice piped across the babble of voices in the hall, high and incredibly sweet. Her knees went weak with relief. “Ama’is!” Marin couldn’t yet manage the
r
in her name.

The child raced out of the crowd as Amaris dropped to her knees and spread her arms. Dark curls flying, big green eyes wide, the little girl flew into her hug with a force that rocked her back on her heels. “Ama’is!” she gasped. “Take me home! I want to see Mama!”

Amaris closed her eyes at the grief that stabbed her as she hugged her little sister close. Marin was too young to grasp death’s finality. “I know, love. I do, too.”

Raniero hit the ground beside her with a thud as Tannaz dumped him from his shoulder. Her father had stripped the warrior of his armor, weapons, and clothing, leaving him naught but his breeches—and the bespelled chains that leached his strength and kept him unconscious.

Tannaz sneered down at them, and Amaris gave him her best bloodthirsty glare in return. Marin burrowed into her shoulder, tiny body quivering. The child had watched him murder their mother but a month past, and she feared him with a black terror.

She might not understand death, but steel and blood were clear enough.

“Poor child.” The voice was beautiful, warm and soft as deep velvet. A big male hand reached down toward Marin’s gleaming curls.

Marin screamed and cowered.

Amaris jerked her sister away and surged to her feet, the child wrapped in her arms. Summoning a shielding spell, she glared at the wizard. “Back.
Away
.”

“Ahhh, Amaris, my sweet.” Korban spread his arms in the fine robes that draped his lean body in silk. Embroidered runes covered the red fabric in intricate spells of protection and power enhancement. The thread shone bright with gold—except where darkened with the blood of the robes’ tailor, slain to enhance its power. His face was long and pale in the torchlight, a beard darkening his angular cheeks and framing his dissolute mouth. “You wound me.”

“Not yet,” Amaris snarled, “But I will if you do not keep your promise.” She jerked her chin at the unconscious vampire. “I captured Lord Raniero, as you demanded. Now, release us.”

“In time.”

“Now!” Amaris demanded through clenched teeth.

Marin’s little legs curled tighter around her hip. “He thinks ’bout killin’ me to feed that ball of his,” the child whispered fearfully. “I see it in his mind. All the time.”

Korban’s eyes rested on the back of the child’s head, greed in their pale depths. “So much potential power for one so young. And you say she is but three years of age?”

“Her age is of no matter to you, wizard.” Heartily sick of his games, Amaris spun toward the great hall’s double doors. She’d left her horse saddled, Marin’s few things packed in saddlebags. They could make Clefton in three days of hard riding. “We are leaving.”

“No.”

All around the hall, warriors looked up at his tone. Swords left scabbards with a sinister metallic slither.

Amaris stopped short as the point of one fighter’s blade rose toward Marin’s thin back. The child’s arms and legs tightened around her with a strength born of sheer terror. Drawing in power desperately, Amaris reinforced the magical shield around them.

But it could not protect them against every man here.

“I’ve decided I need one further service from my Blood Rose.”

Amaris whirled toward him, hot words on her lips. They died on her tongue at the sight of the crimson globe that floated above his palm. The sheer evil emanating from the thing made her skin crawl in revulsion.

The Blood Orb.

“I have a small problem,” Korban told her absently, his eyes fixed on the Orb with lustful fascination. “I can kill King Ferran’s errand boy, of course.” He jerked his chin at Raniero, sprawled in muscular insensibility on the rush-covered floor. “But when he does not report back to his master, Ferran will consider his suspicions confirmed. And since the king maintains a well-trained and rather impressive army that includes a respectable cadre of wizards—well, I would as soon they did not pay me a visit.”

“What has that to do with me?” Amaris snapped. “I cannot defend you from an army.”

“No, but you can woo yon vampire into a more receptive frame of mind.” He smiled. The expression might have imparted a certain beauty to his triangular, foxlike face, if not for his soulless eyes. “Receptive enough to send a magical message to his master that I am a true and loyal servant. Delay Ferran’s attack just a bit. A month, perhaps even two, while I complete my work.”

“You mean your mad plot to drop the barrier that protects us all from the Varil. Whereupon they’ll roll over us and feast on our bleeding corpses.” She turned to the nearest warrior. “Do you want to fill the belly of one of those monsters? I don’t. One wonders why your master does.”

The warrior winced and looked away.

Korban’s pale face reddened with rage. “The Varil are my allies, bitch. They will give me power beyond your conception—power enough to make me king.” He shot a dark look at the flinching warrior. “And those who are
loyal
to me will reap the benefits.”