PRINCE OF THE WIND (24 page)

"You’ve led a sheltered life, Cree."

"I’ve admitted as much."

"Did he tell you he was of the People?"

"Aye," Riain said on a long drawl. "But I don’t know what that means, either."

"The Asotek are a tribe of warriors deep in the jungles of Diabolusia. They have strange gods that require human sacrifice." He turned to Riain. "Children of a certain age are most holy to them. Virgin girls. That sort of thing."

"Children," Riain said flatly.

Amardad plowed a thick hand through his crop of wiry hair. "When Atramentous joined the Brotherhood of the Domination, as many of his tribe have, he was well-received, for they take great delight in tormenting and hurting young boys." He winced. "I know of this first hand."

Riain frowned as he watched the big man pace.

"But Atramentous was not of the same bent as the other priests of that Order. Although he adhered to the tenets of the People when it came to sacrifice, he did not indulge in the perversions that the Brotherhood find so entertaining. He refused to molest the children brought to the Great Abbey atop Mount Serenia. All he wanted to do was work his magik and live among those who could commune with the spirit world."

"Other shapeshifters."

"Well, he wasn’t one of us at that time. That came later." Amardad sat in the chair beside Riain. "When you make an enemy of the Arch-Prelate of that Order, you have played hell, my friend, and that is what Atramentous did. He made an enemy of Basiliscon Umlau, the most vicious Arch-Prelate of his era. Have you heard of him?"

Riain shook his head. "We Chales have had few dealings with the Domination and would just as soon keep it that way."

"Smart race, you Chaleans." Amardad sat forward. "Basiliscon was an evil such as the world had not known until that time. He was a deviate of the highest order. Nothing—man, beast, or fowl—escaped his perverted nature. They say he was born of rape. Rape was his mother and his father was sodomy. He was an evil, evil man."

"And Atramentous ran afoul of him."

"Atramentous refused to take part in the vile orgies Basiliscon held almost nightly. As punishment, Basiliscon conjured a demon to deal with Atramentous. The demon was a Molong, an incubus who feeds on the blood of sleeping men. It can shapeshift into a bird or snake or a combination of both, but nothing else. That night, it came to Atramentous as a feathered snake. It was Basilicon’s desire to have Atramentous killed, drained dry by the Molong. Well, the Molong bit Atramentous, all right, but Basilicon’s punishment backfired."

"How so?"

Amardad grinned. "He’s a smart man, our Atramentous. He embraced the Molong and made his own bargain. The demon went to Basilicon and drained
him
dry! As a result the new Arch-Prelate, fearing Atramentous’ power, threw him out of the Brotherhood. In his own way, Atramentous made the best of a situation that could have destroyed him."

"That’s politics," Riain stated in a bored voice, "and means nothing to me."

"Would you like to be a Molong?" Amardad inquired.

"Is it any worse than being a Reaper?"

"Much worse, young one. You can only take the blood of young men." His grin nearly split his face with mirth. "Young men whose bodies you have enjoyed first!"

Riain frowned. "Ugh…"

Amardad chuckled. "You are a right handsome young whelp and I think he would have made you his consort."

"Won’t happen!"

"Just be careful of him, brat. I imagine he’ll try to bring you over to his way of thinking this eve."

"I saw him with a young man at table. From the look on his face, he seemed well content."

Amardad shrugged. "Perhaps, but when you go to your pallet come the morning light, I’d be sure to take a sprig of wolfbane to ward off any visitors."

Riain looked at his host. "Including your lovely lady?"

The smile left Amardad’s face. "Especially my lovely lady, boy!"

* * *

Maeve could not enter Abaddon Keep, but from the high dunes to the west of the great fortress, she stood in the pre-dawn hours and watched. When a slight movement above the bloodstone turrets caught her eye, she saw two dark shadows winging their way skyward.

"The gods speed your flight, Rhiannon," Maeve whispered to the smaller of the two fluttering shadows as they disappeared beyond the horizon.

The Morrigú looked to the East as the first pink tendrils of daylight began to stitch across the heavens. She breathed a sigh of relief, for at least one danger to her love had been removed.

* * *

Atramentous was so enamored of the beautiful cockatoo flying beside him, he failed to notice the land over which they flew. The young one’s feathers shimmered in the encroaching light, lending an incandescence to his snow-white plumage, and his pale blue eyes promised untold pleasures that awaited the sorcerer.

"How much further, sweeting?" Atramentous inquired as he nudged his wingspan against the young man’s.

"Only a mile or two, Master."

Atramentous dipped his head to take a look at the emerald green mountains. "It is beautiful."

"My keep is there." The other dipped his wings to dive earthward.

Atramentous followed without hesitation, gliding downward on the thermals, feeling the soft tickle of rain striking his beak.

"Hurry before the deluge hits!" The youth laughed and flew straight for a pair of huge doors, opening inward.

The sorcerer glimpsed amber-colored stone before he swooped under the archway. But as soon as his shadow cleared the huge doors, Atramentous knew he was in trouble. "No!" he shrieked, his talons digging at the air in an attempt to break his forward motion.

But it was already too late. The huge doors snapped shut with a loud, thunderous rumble.

* * *

"Have you seen the sorcerer?" Riain asked the following evening.

Amardad shook his head. "I heard he passed the evening with a bird of a different feather. Leave well enough alone, boy."

Lady Amira glanced at the bevy of Ardat-Lile who lounged with her on the other side of the huge feasting table. She smiled at her womenfolk, then turned a polite and respectful gaze to her consort. "I doubt we will see the sorcerer Atramentous again, Milord Amardad."

"How so, my love?"

The shepherdess of the Ardat-Lile shifted her beautiful gaze to Riain. "I thought to bed you, young one," she said, ignoring her consort’s question. "But you have powerful friends in places I care not to venture."

"Meaning?" Riain prodded.

Lady Amira’s scarlet lips stretched into a seductive smile. "When I make journeys, Milord, I wish to be able to return from them."

A gasp ran through those assembled, then two words began to filter among the inhabitants of Abaddon Keep. Two words more feared than the carved teak doors that led to Eternal Oblivion.

Amardad’s eyes widened. "The Windweaver was here last eve?"

She politely inclined her head. "Aye, and now has one more unwilling guest at her keep."

Riain turned puzzled eyes to his host. "What is she talking about?"

"W…World’s End," Amardad whispered.

"World’s End," Riain repeated and looked around as many of those assembled covered their ears. "That’s just great!"

"What ails you, brat?" Amardad asked. "I doubt Rhiannon Chastayne would come after you."

Amira chuckled. "She’s already had him!"

When Riain cast her a look that said he was not amused, she blew him a kiss.

"You’re safe here as long as you don’t go wandering off," Amardad assured Riain.

"I’m not worried about that."

"Then what the gods-be-damned hell are you worried about?"

"He wonders who will help him now," Amira answered. "He wonders who will accompany him to Vent du Nord to free the McGregor bantling."

Amardad’s eyebrow quirked upward. "You want me to go with you?"

"If you do, it can only be in the dead of night, my love," Amira reminded her consort.

"It won’t take me long to either free McGregor or take his life," Riain told them. "But I can’t watch both those harpies at the same time. I need someone to keep one occupied while I deal with the other."

Amardad sighed. "I suppose I get the uglier of the two."

The assembled Ardat-Lile howled with laughter.

The master of Abaddon frowned. "What is amusing, lady?" he asked his consort.

"You would be hard-pressed to choose the uglier of the two," she said dryly.

"If we leave now, can we make it to Vent du Nord before the moon has crested?" Riain asked, coming to his feet.

Amardad nodded and stood. With hands on his hips, he surveyed those gathered at the massive table. "We will need a few of you to go with us." His hawklike gaze shifted to his personal guards. "Ones who are thirsty."

Hands went up all around the table, along with cries to be recognized.

"To do what?" Riain inquired.

"De Viennes has mortal retainers whom she has turned, bantling," Amira replied. "They will fight for her. To you and my love, they will be nothing more than nuisances, but they will slow you down." She swept an alabaster hand toward those whose eager red eyes were fastened on the master of Abaddon. "These good bloodbeasts will handle such and leave the real business to you and Amardad."

Riain could see the wisdom in that. He was eager to be gone, to do what he could for Raven McGregor. He knew his journey was just beginning and—though the thought unsettled him—he wanted to be about the business at hand.

Raven was beginning to suspect that not all was well with his lady. There were times when he would catch Miyoshi looking at him in a way that made his flesh crawl and put a lump of unease in his gut. At such times, she would smile brightly and take his arm, lead him straightaway to their chambers, where she would use her considerable skills to calm him.

And
that
, too, worried Raven.

When, he had asked himself many times, and
where
, had his lady-wife learned the exotic talents that were keeping his body bruised and tired of a morning’s rising? From what instinctive well had she drawn forth the passion that had turned her from a demure maid to an experienced courtesan? From whom had his lady learned her coarse words during these wild fits of passion and from whence had come the raw, earthy nature that was beginning to alarm him?

Not unfamiliar with the steamier side of life, Raven had been first stunned, then pleasantly surprised to learn his bride had no fear of the intimate side of Joining and was not adverse to experimentation. But the pleasant surprise had soon turned to shock and had now become a worrisome question in McGregor’s befuddled mind.

Unable to answer his own troublesome questions and hoping to settle his rapidly-growing unease, Raven had taken to wandering the halls of Vent du Nord keep. He rose early each morn, leaving Miyoshi sleeping soundly, and ventured to the kitchens where he would find the hearth cold and no servants in sight.

At first such remarkable behavior on the part of the keep’s retainers had left Raven openmouthed with disbelief, but when he had questioned their hostess on the matter, she had flung a dismissive hand.

"I am a night person, Milord, and as such, I expect my servants to be nighthawks, as well. If they are awake during the day, how can they attend me during the night?"

McGregor simply shook his head at the strange peculiarities of the Vent du Nord folk and set out to make his own breakfast. What at first had been an annoyance, soon became the only settling thing in his everyday world. Sitting in the cavernous kitchen, a sputtering candlestick his only lively companion, he broke his fast. As he sat staring out the window as the first faint streaks of dawn pinked the sky, Raven’s world was as close to normal as it had been in several months.

Until the first faint whiffs of putrescence began drifting through the room.

At first, he thought it was something spoiled in the refuse bin, but as the stench grew, he began to think it was a dead rodent lying in a darkened corner. Getting up from the table, he clamped his teeth into a heel of bread, took up his glass of milk in one hand and the candlestick in the other, and headed for the dining room to escape the smell. As he passed the door to the cellar, he gagged, the bread shooting from his mouth, for the odor was stronger and so vile it nearly took away his breath. So vile, in fact, he stumbled backward, his eyes watering.

"By the gods, what is that?" he asked, coughing.

Setting the glass of milk on a table beside the door, he reached in his pocket and withdrew a kerchief to plaster across his nose and mouth.

With no one about and not likely to arise until sunset, Raven stood uncertainly at the cellar door, wondering if he should investigate the horrendous odor. Finally deciding the health hazard of such a stench could be worse than seeing what caused the smell, he opened the door, thrust the candlestick into the darkness, and peered into the cellar.

Even behind his kerchief, the odor was so horrific as it rushed up at him, his eyes burned from the fumes. Lifting the candlestick higher, he could see nothing beyond the last few steps at the bottom of the stairs.

Realizing something larger than a rat had succumbed in the cellar, Raven cautiously made his way downstairs, the kerchief pressed tightly to his face and tears streaming from his eyes.

He was totally unprepared for the sight that greeted him at the bottom.

* * *

Suzanna turned over in bed and reached out to draw Raven to her. When her hand encountered empty space, she opened her eyes.

"Raven?" she called, her voice harsh and clogged with morning phlegm.

Aggravated, she kicked back the covers. Nothing angered her more than to go looking for her errant lover. Flinging her wrapper about her shoulders, she stuck her feet into the warmth of her slippers and tromped to the door, snatching it open with more force than was necessary.

"Raven!" she shouted.

Only silence met her growl as she ventured into the hallway. She stomped to the head of the stairs, stood for a moment listening, and called her husband again. When there was no reply, she cursed him. Grunting with the effort, she made her way down the stairs, heaping more vitriolic curses on McGregor’s blond head.