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  "His daughter."

  "Which one? He's got four. Kynyr headed for a table and settled in.

  "Kady."

  Ramsey looked astounded at Cullen's audacity. You put the bone to Kady?"

  "Nah. I didn't get that far. We was in the alley out back, kissing. I'd just got her skirt up when... Cullen glared at Hereward's back and took a seat next to Kynyr. He caught us."

  "You get your bone into Kady and he'll kill you. Finn took the other seat next to Kynyr.

  Cullen shrugged. He'd've tried."

  "You gotta be mad, Cullen Blackwood. Ramsey gestured at a servingmon. Everyone knows you don't mess with Hereward's daughters."

  Cullen's expression turned dour, and his brogue thickened in a betraying manner. Not if ya want ta drink here, ya don't."

  Kynyr ordered a bottle of good whiskey, as he always did; his companions went for tankards of mead. His grandmother sent him a modest stipend that rounded out his meager wages as a guardsmon. Hereward got his supplies of whiskey and other expensive liquors from a dealer in Hell's Widow, a situation that was gradually becoming chancier as the Rebellion moved closer to Clan Lands. Publicly they were taking a neutral stance, trying not to antagonize either the Sharani or the sa'necari. Claw had not yet made his private views on the matter known, and Kynyr hoped that he would at least tell his guardsmyn something; however Claw was playing it close to the vest and Kynyr had to respect that.

  They had barely begun to enjoy their drinks when Malthus entered with three young wolves, only one of whom was known to Kynyr: Torquil, Smith Ranoul's apprentice. Torquil was large as lycans went; standing at least two inches above Kynyr's five foot eleven, big boned and thick muscled.

  Malthus laughed and then noticed that Kynyr was watching them. His gaze locked on Kynyr's, sending the lycan's hackles rising as one predator recognized another. Malthus crooked a finger at Kynyr, biding him join them.

  Kynyr pushed back from the table.

  Finn grabbed at Kynyr and his friend shrugged him off. What are you doing, Kynyr?"

  "Don't get yourself killed. Cullen took a pull from his tankard. I hear that bastard's good."

  Kynyr ignored Cullen and headed for Malthus.

  His companions stared at Malthus and the mon's companions. Finn pushed back from the table and their friends did also.

  Malthus lowered his gaze, licking his lips, and framed a tiny smile. You've been watching us."

  "I'm a friend of Merissa's."

  Cullen moved to stand behind Kynyr with his hands on his blades before anyone could stop him.

  Malthus spared Cullen a glance before focusing on Kynyr. She's very lovely."

  "Yes, I know."

  "Are you going to tell me to leave her alone?"

  "I might be. Kynyr's hands dropped to his blades.

  "I'm kandoyarin. You're just a backwater guardsmon."

  Kynyr regarded Malthus evenly. I'm not impressed."

  "Call me out and you will be."

  Shalto and Torquil laughed.

  "If the boy can't beat ya ... I can. Cullen's lips tightened into a grim promise.

  "It can talk! Torquil snickered.

  Finn and Ramsey seized Kynyr's arms, and maneuvered him back to their table. Cullen trailed after them.

  "Loosen up, Kynyr, Ramsey growled.

  Kynyr shrugged and poked Finn in the shoulder. You remember telling me the Dreaded Horde sent you to keep me out of trouble?"

  Finn grinned over the edge of his tankard. Yeah."

  "Well ... you're not doing a good job of it."

  Finn choked on a mouthful of mead, causing the other four to laugh at him. As soon as he stopped coughing, he gave Kynyr an affronted look. You're hard to ride herd on, Kynyr."

  * * * *

  Malthus returned to camp feeling edgy. If that guardsmon, Kynyr Maguire's friends had not intervened, it was clear that he intended to call Malthus out. He had studied all the human and lycan arts of war as well as those of the sa'necari. It was what made Malthus so versatile.

  However, Kynyr was an unknown quantity that would bear investigating. Malthus had gotten the impression that there was far more to Kynyr Maguire than met the eye. Thinking of Kynyr logically led Malthus to contemplate the little, one-eyed bastard who had had to toss his own two coppers into the situation in the tavern. A few questions directed at a servingmon had produced his name and occupation: Cullen Blackwood, courier.

  For the first week, he had avoided the five sa'necari females living at the camp out of fear of discovery: no one detected sa'necari as easily as their own kind. With the number of potential threats growing, Malthus decided that it was time to take one of them outthe easiest one.

  Malthus noticed one of them standing before her house, which was the closest one to Beth's, not counting the sheelings. He tried to remember what her name was. She seemed to be watching him with a speculative expression, holding a three-year-old on her hip. Her son, as he recalled, was lycan. No wonder she had fled. Their kind were less tolerant of a female hooking up with a lycan, than they were of males doing so.

  The longer he waited to deal with his people here, the more he placed himself at risk of being revealed. Malthus went to Beth's house and let himself in. He found Beth sitting at her loom, weaving. She rose to greet him, smiling, and threw her arms around him. Malthus shoved her away. Beth looked hurt by his action, but said nothing.

  "How many sa'necari are in this camp?"

  "Five women, Beth said.

  "Who's that one with the lycan child?"

  Beth frowned. Kandaishee."

  "Fetch her."

  "Why?"

  "Just do it."

  Beth returned a few minutes later with Kandaishee. The child had been left with one of the other women.

  "What is this about, Beth? she asked. Kandaishee's eyes went to Malthus, and she folded her arms across her middle, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Recognition glimmered in her eyes, telling Malthus that he had been right: she had figured him out.

  "I wanted to speak with you, Malthus said. He stepped close and touched the hollow of Kandaishee's throat to mute her voice.

  She clutched at her throat, turning to flee. Malthus grabbed her arm, jerking her against him. Kandaishee clawed for his eyes. He caught that wrist and forced both arms behind her, bringing her body hard against his. Her fangs came down and she tried to bite his face. Malthus bumped her chin with his shoulder and banged her face with his forehead.

  "Hold her, Beth."

  Beth seized Kandaishee's arms, pinning them.

  "No, please, Kandaishee begged.

  "You know that begging does no good, Kandaishee, Malthus said. I can see it in your eyes. You've practiced the rites."

  Kandaishee pulled at her arms, but could not get free from Beth's grip as the lycan changed to her hybrid form. I've renounced them."

  "A shame. Malthus stroked her face, Reading her. Her magic was underdeveloped, suggesting that she had participated in only a few rites, just enough to alter her eyes, and not enough to give her the substantial sa'necari strength.

  She tried to close her mind to him, twisting and turning her thoughts about to prevent Malthus from getting hold of her. Spellcorded, Kandaishee's mind lacked shields and would be unable to fight him off if he pressed it. However, he did not wish to leave her wrecked. That would be noticed.

  "Don't make me rip you open, Malthus hissed. No one cares enough to notice a change in you."

  She twisted her head back, trying to look at the lycan behind her. Beth, please let me go. He's going to hurt me."

  Beth said nothing, only tightening her hold, her strong fingers digging into Kandaishee's flesh.

  Malthus ran his finger down Kandaishee's nose and across her check, amusement turning the corners of his mouth. Beth is mine. I claimed her my first night here."

  Kandaishee eyes softened into pools of despair, her mouth drooped. She stopped straining against Beth's hands. Gods, have mercy."

  "You're praying
to the wrong gods, Malthus said. Be still and it won't hurt as much."

  "I know. Resignation crept into Kandaishee's voice. I've done it myself ... many times."

  "Then why resist? You know you can't. Open and let me in. It will be over quickly."

  Kandaishee's head lowered and her shoulders drooped. Malthus sensed her surrender, felt her mind go still and yielding. He lunged in, working swiftly, laying in all the coercions, compulsions, sways, and triggers at once. The speed of his efforts caused Kandaishee more pain than going slowly would have. She closed her eyes, turned her head to the side, and whimpered like a battered puppy. To test his results, he raped her.

  "Bring me another sa'necari, Malthus ordered Beth, as Kandaishee crawled into a corner and huddled sobbing.

  By the end of the day, Malthus no longer had to worry that one of his people would recognize his true nature and reveal him to the lycans. What he had said to Kandaishee was true: neither the lycans nor the humans that lived and worked about the camp cared enough about sa'necari to notice a change in them.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HELL'S WIDOW

  Heat stole over the streets of Hell's Widow. Spring had faded before the arrival of summer. Days were hot, but the mountain breezes cooled the valley off in the evenings. Heironim pulled at the edges of his coarse russet shirt and light wool tunic. He abhorred the crude cloth of the lower classes, but he dealt with it. A pair of the long slender dirks carried by the Waejontori commoners rode at his hips, not as broad and heavy as those worn by the lycans; stabbing weapons rather than the slash and thrust preferred by the lycan yeomonry.

  Heironim walked along Main Street in Hell's widow, avoiding eye contact with everyone he passed. The right clothing and body language contributed to keeping his true nature hidden. Sidera Tyrins had schooled him well. The art of concealment had become second nature to Heironim and the young sa'necari he had brought to Hell's Widow with him. He had been only five years old when the Sharani crossed the borders and tore his life apart. Heironim could not remember a time when he had not needed to hide what he was whenever he left the Tyrins estate growing up. His myn had grown up in the occupied zone, living from birth in terror of discovery by the Sharani. They were a different breed of sa'necari from those who had managed to escape into the mountain fastnesses where the Sharani dared not go.

  The Sharani guardsmyn, strolling Main Street in pairs, paid him no heed. One of the first things he had done on reaching Hell's Widow was to learn their patterns. They patrolled heavily in certain sections and rarely in others; staying away from the lycan ghetto on the southwest unless summoned, and the Red Lantern district that adjoined it. The human shopkeepers and the upper classes enjoyed more protection than the poor.

  He neared the Town Square, caught the lingering odor of burnt flesh, and fought his stomach for a moment. A week ago, the Sharani had caught a young sa'necari, his wife, and three children, who were trying for the borders to escape the violence in the northwest. The grisly remains of them were still chained to the posts in the Square where the Sharani had burned them all alive.

  Heironim turned south on Corbie way and breathed a sigh of relief that he had gotten past the square without attracting attention. He disliked traveling at midday when the patrols were heaviest. However, the patrols rarely ventured down Corbie Way. Taverns, brothels, gambling house overshadowed the homes and less shops along the muddy street. There were certain colors and device best not worn here, especially the crimson and emerald of Danae, the neighboring Sharani province that owned this section of Waejontor; and the claret and chocolate of the Red Wolf guardsmyn. When myn of either group ventured here, they did so in civilian garb.

  Heironim had been in Hell's Widow for six weeks, quietly buying up various businesses as fronts for his operations, under the shelter of a proxy trading company set up by Malthus mother, Sidera Tyrins.

  The largest of the two brothels the lycans favored was the Crimson lady which had thirty whores in residence. A mon had to go as far south as Skeleton Creek or west as far as Dragonton and Torment Lake to find a larger whorehouse. Although most people cautiously avoided discussing it, the Crimson Lady was the largest employer in Hell's Widow. Madam Silkie Faggini who ran the Crimson Lady employed her own guards, and was rumored to have put the Sharani patrols and inspectors on a secret payroll to leave her establishment alone.

  All of that made the Crimson Lady the first order of business that day. The elegant old mansion on Corbie Way, with its fluted columns and wide portico, had been built by the sa'necari family that established the town ten centuries ago to trade with and keep an eye upon the eastern lycan clans, such as Red Wolf and Silverpaw. The Sharani had wiped out the family twenty years ago, at which point the manor had been abandoned until Silkie bought it a decade ago.

  Erotic tapestries and paintings dominated the walls of the foyer to the Crimson Lady. A huge desk of polished dark wood stood guard at the far end with a matchstick of a clerk sitting there with an appointment book open in front of him. A stack of other books rose like multicolored soldiers in a long, low wooden box to his left hand.

  Heironim nodded at the clerk. I have an appointment with Silkie."

  The clerk frowned, selected a book from the box, and opened it. Your name?"

  "Heironim Traxton."

  "I don't see you down. Madam has marked the next three hours do not disturb. Can I set you up for another time?"

  Heironim leaned over the desk, laid a Sharani double-gryphon down, and slid it over to the clerk with his fingertip still touching it. The clerk smiled and put his hand over the coin. Heironim shifted his finger, popping it atop the clerk's, and extended his gifts through the physical contact. The clerk's mouth went slack and his eyes vacant.

  Pleased by the simplicity of the clerk's mind, which yielded to him like water, Heironim murmured. Shouldn't you show me up now?"

  The clerk looked startled, as if shaken from a dream. Oh yes. He gestured at one of the savants sitting on a bench along the wall as a runner. Lees, take the desk a moment. I'll be right back."

  The clerk led Heironim into the Great Hall and up a broad swept staircase to the second floor. Right this way."

  "What's your name?"

  "Mine, sir?"

  "Yours."

  "Flavio Ricci."

  "We're going to be friends, Flavio. Heironim used repetitions of Flavio's name to deepen the link he had insinuated into the mon at desk; a technique he had learned from Malthus when they were boys together. You'll have a drink with me tonight, Flavio?"

  The clerk brightened. Oh, of course, sir. Where?"

  "My home, Flavio. I'm living above the Green Sheaves Warehouse. North door takes you to the stairs."

  "I'll come straight there after work."

  Heironim smiled, remembering Malthus admonition that it was best to always have more than one pawn in play at a time, more than one avenue of attack and retreat, and a series of overlapping ploys.

  Silkie Faggini sat at the desk in her office going over the ledgers when Heironim entered. The aristocratic angles of her face had held up to the years well and despite the lines around her eyes and mouth, Silkie remained an attractive woman. The edges of her slanted, faintly sylvan eyes narrowed, their cerulean depths flashing like blue fire. What do you want?

  Heironim stood at the edge of the desk, smiling. To make you an offer."

  "You're the one who's been buying up warehouses."

  That startled Heironim, who thought he had been discreet. I want the Crimson Lady."

  Silkie's expression hardened. She's not for sale."

  "My dear lady... Heironim leaned across the desk, lifted her hand from the ledger, and kissed her fingers. He used the physical contact to make a gentle, questing probe and discovered her mind would not open to him. Wards.

  Silkie jerked her hand away and slapped him across the face. Get out. Next time you wish to talk, make an appointment."

  Heironim straightened with an exaggerated sigh. I'll do that
."

  He retreated from the room with a bow to Silkie at the door before slipping into the hallway. Getting to Silkie would acquire time and planning; and Flavio would prove a decent start once Heironim got his fangs and coercions into him deep enough.

  * * * *

  Kynyr changed into a simple cambric shirt and canvas pants, both black, and pulled on his bootsall either loose or with enough give to the fabric that he could shift easily without tearing anything or having to tightly control the level of transition. Nothing remained about him to scream guardsmon to passersby. He buckled on his blades and retrieved Aisha's shopping list from the nightstand, stuffing it into his pocket.

  Claw had grown increasingly reluctant to let his family leave the valley, and so Aisha had begun sending Kynyr to Hell's Widow with her lists, enough coin to cover everything and a little extra for him and his friends to spend as a thank you in advance. She did not need to have done that, but Aisha liked people to know they were appreciated, and the result was that she generally got the best effort out of people.

  He headed into the hallway and took the side door into the courtyard. Ramsey, Eideard, and Finn had already headed out to get the wagon hitched and their horses saddled.

  Cullen strolled across the yard and saw Kynyr coming out. Where ya goin'?"

  "Hell's Widow. Aisha wants some supplies picked up."

  "Want some company?"

  "Sure, but I don't have time to wait for you. We need to head out so we can get there while the lights still good. Kynyr kept walking with Cullen trotting to keep up with him.

  "No problem. Cullen gave him a wink and ran into the barn. See ya in Hell's Widow."

  Kynyr chuckled and scratched at his sideburns. His friends were waiting with the wagon when he got there. Bucky, Kynyr's saddle horse, was tied to the back. They sat their horses, gazing in the direction that Cullen had gone.

  "What's with him? Ramsey asked.

  Kynyr shrugged. Says he'll meet us in Hell's Widow."

  Eideard groaned. All he talks about is horses and whores."

  Finn laughed at Eideard's reaction, ran a hand through his hair, and his lips framed a mischievous smile. I think he likes Kynyr."