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  Malthus threw himself on top of her, enjoying the way she moaned as his fangs pierced her breast and he began to suck her rich lycan blood. If anyone heard them, they would assume that someone was making love in the copse. And, once he finished his meal, they would be.

  * * * *

  One the far side of the Great Hall, close to the hearth, Claw's aging sisters, Searlait and Fianait, sat at their looms weaving. Off to their left the spinning wheel whirred as Aisha Redhand, Claw's wife, spun strands of wool into yarn to be taken to the local dyers.

  Kynyr had house duty that day. The other guardsmyn called it bitch watching and were only too glad to trade off with Kynyr to avoid it. Since all the troubles began, Claw wanted at least one male at large in the family sections of the manor, watching over his sisters. Frequently there was more than one, depending upon Claw's mood, and the gardens and grounds were patrolled constantly.

  Having grown up as an only boy with six sisters, Kynyr enjoyed it; and his spiritbrother Finnwho had been raised in similar circumstances, but with eight rather than sixhad begun to also. That often led to the two of them getting paired for the duty as they were that day.

  Kynyr sat next to Fianait with just enough distance between them that he did not get in her way as she wove the delicate kazamerie wool on her big loom. Fianait responded well to his questions about the history of her family and his favorite stories involved Tarrant Redhand, the older of Claw's twin sons, who had been executed by the sa'necari.

  Fianait took out her scissors and clipped a strand of brown wool before tying on a green strand for the next row. Kynyr noticed that the ends of the scissors were blunt and rounded like children's scissors. On impulse he glanced at her waist and saw that she carried pouches on her belt, but no knife. Bitches usually carried a small utility knife, and some of themthose that had to travel alone for any amount of timecarried a single fighting knife. The absence of a blade and the blunted scissors increased the air of fragility that clung to the elderly bitch in a way that Kynyr found difficult to define.

  Finn sat near the door watching them.

  Fianait tucked a strand of thinning, white hair back into the bun at the base of her neck. Fair-skinned to begin with, she had become translucently pale with age, the veins showing violet beneath her skin. Her knuckles, like knobs on her long, slender fingers, bore the signs of arthritis; however, she rarely allowed it to slow her down. She smiled at Kynyr as she started again at her loom.

  "You remind me of Tarrant."

  Kynyr smiled back at her. The entire family had remarked on that more than oncein fact, it was repeated almost daily by at least one of themand Kynyr enjoyed hearing it, except when they tried to carry it a bit further. They knew his father was a bastard and his grandmother had ridden with Tarrant's army as a healer during the tragic Lycan Rebellion of eighty years ago. Kynyr had never made an effort to conceal it, because gossip was a popular lycan mode of communication and what happened on the East side of the valley was usually known all over the west side within a season. But he always assured them that he was no kin of theirs and usually they let it drop.

  "I'm complimented."

  Fianait's smile broadened. Is your father still teaching school?"

  "Last I heard he was."

  Community supported schools were still somewhat of a novelty in Red Wolf Valley, teaching reading, writing, basic math, and a little history. Although Kynyr's father said that it still felt like pulling teeth, literacy had begun to spread among the lycans.

  "Does he enjoy it?"

  Kynyr chuckled. He had had this conversation many times before with Fianait. Either her memory had begun to go with age, or she just liked hearing it all again. Kynyr was never certain which it was. Cubs would rather go fishing than crack books."

  "Frustrates him?"

  "A bit."

  "I'd've snuck off more often if it hadn't been for the Dreaded Horde, Finn complained.

  Aisha favored them with a prim frown. Must you always call your sisters the Dreaded Horde?"

  Finn scratched at his scruffy yellow hair. Don't know what else to call them. My sisters and Kynyr's used to gang up on the two of us. Fourteen harpies armed with hairbrushes ... descending on us like Hell's Army. We've been away from home for four years and I swear I've still got some parting lumps and bruises."

  Searlait laughed and that set off the rest of them.

  "Changing of the Guard, called a gruff male voice from the doorway.

  Kynyr glanced and saw Captain Belgair Doherty standing near the entrance to the Great Hall flanked by grizzled Morcar and the oafish Gorgarty. Then he caught a glimpse of Ramsey's bright red hair in the hallway just beyond the door as his friend thumbed at the foyer, indicating that Kynyr and Finn had friends waiting for them in the courtyard: apparently a trip to the Difficult Horse for a tankard was planned.

  "Excuse us. Kynyr rose to his feet with a polite bow to the bitches.

  Aisha stopped him with a gesture. If you're going to Hereward's ask if he's gotten more of the whiskey in that Claw likes. Otherwise we'll have to send someone to Hell's Widow for it."

  "I'll do that."

  * * * *

  Malthus slipped out of Beth's bed before first light, lest one of the children catch him there. He had ridden her several times in the night, sa'necari having a greater sex drive than most other races. The children had been forbidden to enter what passed for a bedroom in the longhouse, but that did not mean they would obeychildren were known for disobedience. Beth had told him the truthit was nearly impossible for anyone to lie with the blade of a sa'necari's power lodged in her brainshe had been virgin. He had thoroughly deflowered her to both their satisfactions. Malthus tied his pants closed, pulled on his tunic, and belted his blades and pouch on.

  Within a few days, he would have a perfectly cooperative tool in Beth. He stepped silently around the children sleeping on the floor like a pile of puppies, and emerged from the longhouse to the sounds of trees crashing to earth. Malthus glanced toward the sounds and saw lycans in their hybrid forms, wearing only pants, trimming away the branches of the felled trees with axes.

  He nodded at that and went to the water barrels lining the west side of the longhouse, took down a dipper from a wooden frame above them, and took a long drink before splashing himself with the leftovers. If he wanted a bath, he would have to go down to the stream.

  "So you're new?"

  Malthus straightened and turned at the sound. A tall, long-limbed mon stood there, wearing the umber robe and forest green cloak of a priest to Willodarus. He had a heavy nose in a long face that reminded Malthus of a hound dog he had once owned. A leonine wealth of nut-brown hair topped his head, and he had heavy-lidded steel blue eyes, framed in wrinkles beneath a strong brow ridge. The priest carried a tall staff and a belt-knife so small it could not be considered a weapon. At first glance there was nothing to give Malthus pause to consider the mon a threat, yet his instincts said there had to be. Malthus gave him a polite bow. I'm Malthus Estrobian. My nieces and I arrived yesterday. The girls are still sleeping, but I needed some air."

  "We all need air. What god do you serve?"

  "I haven't pledged to any, but I make offerings to all as the need comes to me."

  The priest's eyes went to Malthus wrists. Human?"

  Malthus nodded. His eyes slewed to the side and he saw the lawgiver, Nikko, leaning against an elm tree with his arms crossed. Malthus wondered what part Nikko had played in bringing the priest to investigate him.

  Nikko noticed Malthus looking at him, and nodded with a pleasant smile.

  The priest's gaze seemed to deepen and extend into him. Malthus found himself reaching out to the ring to strengthen his shields. Waejontori human?"

  "Yes. But I've been away for fifteen years."

  "Take your tunic off and show me your neck."

  Malthus unbuckled his belt, dropped it to the ground, and then he pulled off his tunic. His stomach tightened and he forced it to relax. He had not had
the ring of concealment tested this severely: the priest intended to Read him. Do you wish me to sit for this?"

  "A good point. Bring your things to that boulder, and sit there. The priest pointed to a huge rock in the middle of the yard near a wooden bench.

  Malthus obeyed, and the priest followed him. Once settled, the examination began. The priest ran his fingers along both sides of Malthus neck, Reading for signs of his having been bitten, which could have placed him under the control of Lemyari and other hemovores. The priest checked his arms, his chest, his sides, and stomach. Then he grasped Malthus wrist and Read him deeply. Malthus analyzed the nature of the priest's powers as they moved through him: the mon was human, not lycan. Interesting.

  Without releasing Malthus wrist, the old priest remarked, I'm astonished that one who has lived so intimately with the sa'necari as you have, is not marked in some way."

  Malthus shrugged. I was a noble's bastard. I left young. There's no place for my kind at court, except to bend over and offer my neck."

  "I'm surprised they let you go."

  The priest's tone irritated Malthus. I'm human. Not nibari. My father was not so low as to eat his own children."

  "Are we getting a little angry? The lines of the priest's eyes crinkled as he grinned good-naturedly and let go of Malthus wrist. I apologize for pushing you. It is my job to assess the newcomers, just as it is for the lawgiver. Nikko is young, so he likes for me to examine them also. The mon extended his hand. I am Tempest Anstey."

  Malthus grasped it. It is good to meet you."

  "I hope you find it so. We'll be keeping an eye on you. We do all of the males at first. You see, not many have shown up here seeking refuge. Most flee over the borders into Creeya. It is the women and children who can't run as far or as well who come to us."

  "I am here because of my nieces. I feared they would not survive that kind of a journey."

  "Understandable. I will leave you alone now. However, I will drop in again."

  "I will welcome you."

  Malthus turned his attention elsewhere as Tempest departed with Nikko. Three lycans, bare to the waist, in their transitional forms, dragged a tree into the compound, and set to it with hammers and wedges once they had ascertained which way the grain lay. They split it into planks with swift efficiency. Several young myn moved the planks to the houses that were being raised.

  He drifted over to them and spied a young lycan who appeared to be in charge. Is there something I can do to help?"

  Shalto straightened from running his hand along one of the planks and nodded. You're the new one. He extended his hand and shook with Malthus.

  "I'm Malthus."

  "Shalto. Well, there'll be plenty of work for you soon. You don't need to start immediately."

  "You're rather young to be in charge, aren't?"

  Shalto scowled. I'm sixteen. I've been of age for two years."

  "I meant no offense."

  "Then none taken."

  "Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you a tankard at the tavern in exchange for telling me how best to fit in? I know very little about your customs, and I don't wish to offend anyone."

  Shalto grinned. Can my cousin, Oswyl, come? He thumbed at another young mon with rust colored hair.

  Malthus smiled broadly. Certainly."

  "We'll take a tavern break in the afternoon when the sun gets hottest. Come back then."

  Malthus wandered the camp, observing the people. Naked children crawled out of the low openings to the woven bark sheelings and ran laughing across the yard, pursued by older siblings trying to pull clothes over them. The smoke of cook fires spiraled out of the exit holes in the sheeling roofs as the women began to cook their allotments of meal. Others emerged with their bedding and hung them out to air on lines stretched between trees. Several women filled pitchers at the water barrels and carried them back to their houses and sheelings. Malthus could easily identify the sa'necari among them by the spellcords on their wrists with the deadly seals attachedif they tried to remove the cords, the seal would release a fatal spell upon them. He had only been corded a few times in his thirty-six years. The first time had been by his mother who wished for him to understand the effect and she had released him a day later. Still, looking at the cords made him shudder.

  The refugees were mostly young women with children. He ran his tongue across his gums, feeling the sheaths of his fangs. There were several there that Malthus would have enjoyed getting his teeth into, but caution was a watchword with him. He would make do with Beth for the nonce. Greed would betray him to the lycans faster than anything else. He had to also make certain that Ros remained in firm control, since she was precocious and had been born with her fangs.

  He sauntered around behind the dwellings to the barns and watched four of the homeliest nibari he had ever seen milking goats while the tethered beasts nibbled at the low hanging leaves of a leaning oak tree. Once Malthus had walked the entire length of the camp and found each of the red sticks that had been placed around it to mark its perimeters, he decided on an isolated corner sheltered by many trees as the spot where he wanted to place his house. He would inform Beth of his choice and she would tell the others.

  Shalto and Oswyl were sitting on tree rounds, waiting for Malthus when he made his way back.

  "Are you ready? asked Shalto.

  "I certainly am, replied Malthus, reaching into a pouch to flash several pieces of gold and silver at the youths.

  Oswyl nudged Shalto. Let's go. I'm thirsty."

  "The Difficult Horse is the best, Shalto said as they began walking toward the village. Old Hereward makes his own mead from honey the farmers sell him, and it's very nice."

  "I imagine so. Lycans are famous for their mead."

  "So we are, Oswyl acknowledged Malthus comment.

  The Difficult Horse, called that because of its sign that featured a horse sitting on its rump while a mon tugged the reins before it, stood on Main Street across from the village common. The interior, cool, dark, and pleasant compared to the heat and glaring sunlight outside, provided a welcome relief. Barrels with spigots jutting from them lined the rear wall behind a polished bar of walnut heartwood. Sturdy chairs circled the round tables placed throughout. Shalto led the way to their favorite table near the right hand wall, and the young lycan indicated that Malthus should sit first. Malthus chose the chair that put his back to the wall where he could see everyone around him, an old custom that had saved his life in the past and played to the caution in his nature.

  Six freerangers in forest green leathers sat at a table near the door. Their presence irritated Malthus. Those sword-wielding tree-huggers had begun to increase their numbers in the area, adding their own patrols between the valley and Hell's Widow to compensate for the decrease in Sharani patrols as the Saer'ajan of Shaurone turned her attention toward the Waejontori Rebellion. They could easily endanger Malthus lines of communication with his operatives in Hell's Widow and disrupt his still tenuous supply lines.

  A servingmon came to take their order and Malthus noticed the metal ownership collar around her neck: she was nibari, a reminder that before Claw closed their borders to his kind two years ago, this had been a waystation for sa'necari passing through the occupied zone. The mon had been expected to open her veins and legs to sa'necari passing through as well as to serve other customers in the past. It irritated him and Malthus thoughts went back to the women of his kind shackled by sealed spellcords on each wrist. Spellcord on a single wrist was not enough to completely stifle the flow of power through a mage's shaukras and the mage-nets in their body, each wrist had to be corded separately. His human mother had taught him that by making him wear them both ways for a day. He wondered how his mother fared with her new employer, Lord Daemon.

  "So, what did you do before you wound up here? asked Shalto, shifting back in his seat as the tankards arrived and Malthus dropped some coins onto the server's tray.

  "I spent fifteen years as a kandoyarin."

  "M
ercenary. Hsaaah! Shalto grinned, appreciation glinting in his pecan shell brown eyes.

  Well at least they know the term. That's worth something . I've been from one end of the Blood Coast to the other."

  From the corner of Malthus eye, he caught a glimpse of Nikko covertly watching them. Is he following me around? Or was he already here?

  "Why'd you come back? Oswyl asked.

  A tall blond in the chocolate and claret uniform of the Red Wolf guardsmyn took a seat at Nikko's table. The young lawgiver had a ready smile for him. Hello, Kynyr."

  Malthus licked his lips, momentarily distracted by Kynyr's appearance. It had been years since Malthus saw a male lycan that so strongly provoked his appetitesyet Kynyr did.

  The young guardsmon's golden ginger hair, so thick it bloused around his face no matter how tightly he tied it back, hung at his shoulders in a clubbed knot. A narrow fringe of close-cropped golden beard framed his face from sideburns to an inch from his chin. His lantern jaw, pronounced cheekbones with dramatic hollows beneath them, and cleft chin made him the visual epitome of lycan masculinity.

  Looking at him made Malthus hungry.

  "Malthus? Oswyl prodded.

  Malthus attention snapped back to the young wolves at his table. Sorry. I was distracted. Who's the young guardsmon?"

  "Kynyr Maguire from Longbranch. No one special. Thinks he's a looker, but he ain't, said Shalto, and then repeated Oswyl's question. Why'd you come back?"

  "The rebellion. I had family in Waejontor. Malthus pressed his hands around his tankard and stared into the contents before continuing. I became worried about them."

  Shalto and Oswyl shared a glance as if deciding who would ask the obvious question. As usual, it was Shalto who did. Had?"

  "They're all dead ... except my nieces. I didn't get back in time."

  "We're really sorry to hear about that, aren't we, Shalto?"