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Preece sauntered over. What's going on?"

  "We've caught one of Caimbeul's murderers."

  Preece lifted an eyebrow. Really?"

  Belgair's lips curled into a snarl. Yes. The other one's Nesswen Goff. If you see him, send for me."

  "Oh, I will. I certainly will. Preece's jaded eyes gave nothing away as he wondered how they had fingered Yren and Nesswen, yet had no knowledge of the fact that Nesswen was dead. Caimbeul had killed him in the first moments of the fight.

  The guards dragged Yren to his feet and led him stumbling away. Preece let them get out of sight, and then went in search of Shalto and Oswyl.

  * * * *

  Kynyr walked into the yard of the manor with Searlait, content that he had gotten her home without a major incident. He doubted the local ruffians would bother her, knowing what kind of reaction Claw would have. The crusty old chieftain would rip Wolffgard apart if someone touched his sisters. Yet he could not let go of his gut instinct that matters were becoming too dangerous for Searlait to go alone. Had he not long ago given his word not to betray her secret place, Kynyr would have assigned someone to guard her. He had stumbled upon her there by accident, but that did not mean that someone elsesomeone who did not fear the wrath of Clawmight not also find her.

  "Searlait, please stop going alone."

  She pressed her finger to his lips to stop him from saying anything more. I promised to think about it."

  Kynyr started to argue and spied Belgair returning with his myn. Yren hung trussed up and thrown across the saddle of a horse. Kynyr grabbed Searlait around the waist and hurried her to the door of the manor. You don't need to see this."

  She squirmed around in his grasp. See what? Oooh."

  Searlait went three shades of pale, gathered her skirts, and went inside.

  Kynyr turned and strode across the yard as the guardsmyn began dismounting. I see you got Yren."

  "Yah, Belgair growled. But there was no sign of Nesswen."

  "Toniqua says he's dead."

  Belgair spit on the ground. I'll believe that when I see his dead body."

  "She said the spirit was gone from his blood. She took samples from the floor of the Lawgiver House."

  "Spirit in the blood. Belgair favored Kynyr with a contemptuous look. I've never heard anything so ridiculous."

  Kynyr went cold inside. The past few months, Belgair had begun displaying a smoldering resentment of Kynyr that the prince could not completely figure out. In the beginning, it had seemed as if Belgair were pushing for a fight after learning about Todd Sinclair having trained Kynyr. But it had only grown worse since the day Kynyr came out as Claw's heir. The Chieftain's failing health did not help matters.

  "It's written about in the old texts."

  "You don't know as much as you think you do."

  Kynyr let that pass. There was no point in it. Todd had drilled it into Kynyr that trivial slights were not matters deserving of a physical quarrel. Time will tell."

  * * * *

  Malthus strode from his chambers intending to have a drink at the Difficult Horse with members of the Lycamornots, a juvenile gang that Shalto Beggins had formed at Malthus urging. When he reached the foyer, the door opened, and Belgair entered with four of his guardsmyn, dragging a scrawny mon between them with his hands tied behind him and spellcorded. The severely beaten youth sagged in his captors hands, barely able to stand.

  He lifted his head, made brief eye contact with Malthus, and then looked away before betraying any connection between them.

  Yren.

  Malthus stopped them. What's going on?"

  Pale and worn, Claw Redhand entered behind them, and turned to Malthus. A witness came forward and identified this asshole as a participant in the murder of Caimbeul. Nesswen also, but we haven't been able to find him."

  "Those two work at the Sanctuary. They've always been good boys. I can't imagine them murdering someone."

  "Well, they did. The witness is reliable, Claw growled.

  "Who?"

  "This isn't your affair. Kynyr Maguire stepped into the foyer and stood beside his great-grandfather, scowling at Malthus. Get on with your business."

  "So be it. Malthus gave a polite bow. After all, who am I to argue with a prince? I was just going out for a drink at the tavern."

  He went to the barns and ordered his horse, Devilton, saddled. His mind reeled as he traveled the quiet road to Wolffgard. Malthus thoughts ran back over what had happened when they killed the lawgiver Padruig Caimbeul, trying to figure out what and how much could have been given away.

  They knocked on the door to the Lawgiver House, wearing animal masks over their faces: a cat, a dog, a lion, a serpent, a bird, a bear, a frog, and a deer.

  "What do you want? Caimbeul demanded.

  He started to close the door, only to have it shoved back in his face by Torquil hard enough to stagger him. Caimbeul retreated.

  The youths pushed in past him.

  Malthus wore the same leering serpent mask he had worn while carrying out his experiments in his lost manor: vivisections and toxin testing on lycans. He held a long glass rod in his hands, to make it look as if his magic came from the rod and not himself.

  "What's going on? Caimbeul's hand dropped to the hilt of his blade and he changed to his hybrid form. Get out of my house."

  "I'm sorry, said Oswyl. We must protect ourselves."

  "I'm not doing anything to you. Show me your faces, and we'll discuss it."

  Malthus wanted to laugh at the way Caimbeul knew he was going to die.

  Nesswen's dagger flashed in the lamplight as it came at Caimbeul in an overhand strike. Caimbeul drew his knife, sidestepped, and hooked Nesswen's blade, locking their hilts together. Snapping his leg out, Caimbeul kicked Nesswen in the groin, doubling him over, freed his blade, and shoved it into Nesswen's ribs. He turned to face another as Nesswen folded onto the ground, groaning and weeping.

  Oswyl shoved his blade into Caimbeul's belly. Caimbeul hit Oswyl in the chest, slamming him into the wall. Oswyl straightened and lunged in. He seized the hilt of the blade still lodged to the quillons in Caimbeul's body, jerked it out, and swept it into a thrust from below. Caimbeul blocked it with a shield hold on his knifeone hand on its hilt and the other on its bladeforcing Oswyl's knife down.

  Rheu slashed the lawgiver's right forearm open from wrist to elbow, and then plunged the knife into his ribs. The blade fell from the lawgiver's hand. Malthus could tell from the look on Caimbeul's face that he was feeling the burn of Devil's Silver in his bloodstream.

  They circled him with drawn knives that had the coppery stain of Devil's Silver on all of them. The lawgiver started to unleash a long ululating cry would bring myn running, but Malthus darted in and put the rod to his throat, silencing his voice.

  "Kill him, Malthus ordered.

  Caimbeul reached for the Malthus's mask to pull it off his face. Malthus stepped out of Caimbeul's reach as the Torquil caught him by the hair, yanked him off balance, and thrust a blade into his chest with a ripping twist. Caimbeul blinked, and his lips parted in a sharp gasp. He shuddered and his knees wobbled like a drunk's.

  Oswyl's expression begged Caimbeul's forgiveness as he slipped the blade into the lawgiver's ribs.

  Three blades tore into Caimbeul's back. Two more plunged deep into his sides. His attackers made gleeful noises, howling with excitement. They danced around him, knowing there was no fight left in him, stabbing and slicing for the unholy pleasure of it.

  Yren kept jostling Oswyl whenever he hesitated, pressuring him into delivering more cuts to Caimbeul's body, more insertions of the blade.

  Internal bleeding counted for the worst of it, yet Caimbeul's body was awash in crimson, and it stained the shreds of his robe. Blood and gore splattered his assailants masks and clothing.

  Torquil held onto Caimbeul's hair, plunged his blade expertly into each of his shoulders, severing the radial nerves, and then striking again to shatter the shoulder blades.

  Breath
ing hard, Caimbeul started to slump as the knives continued to pierce his sides, his back, his chest, and his stomach. Only Torquil's hand in his hair held him up.

  Malthus chuckled, tilting his head to the side as if considering a work of art. Lovely."

  Then Torquil released him.

  Caimbeul collapsed in the middle of the floor, listening to their laughter. Blood pooled around his body. He lay in a crumpled heap. They unbuckled his belt, rolled him over twice to get his robe off, and left him on his back nude. Malthus watched him shiver violently, breaking out in cold sweat, and then rippling with convulsions.

  Shalto studied Caimbeul's body. We cut him up good and fast."

  Rheu licked his lips. The blade slid in so easy..."

  "It's good steel. Torquil adjusted his lion mask. Parts the flesh like cheese."

  Preece knelt and cleaned his blade on Caimbeul's robe, rose with the cloth in his hands and passed it around. Take care of your blades, and your blades will take care of you."

  "We're not finished. Malthus snarled impatiently. Open him up, Yren."

  Yren slit Caimbeul's belly open from groin to sternum, and poured a vial of liquid into the lawgiver's guts that poisoned the fireborn half of him. A canine whimper forced its way from his throat. That takes care of that. He'll be good and dead when we're finished."

  Shalto wiped his blade and passed the robe on to Oswyl. The priest is next. I'm going to fuck her while she's dying. Give her a taste of what she gives others."

  Torquil leered. I want inside that trolleymog bitch myself."

  Oswyl sucked in a breath and stepped away, shaking his head. I don't know."

  "Shut up. Shalto hit Oswyl's shoulder. You stuck him at least twice. I saw you."

  "I know. I just ... didn't expect it to feel like this. Oswyl knelt beside Nesswen, who still groaned and sobbed. He pulled a wadded handkerchief from a pocket of his robe and stuffed it into the wound. What about Nesswen?"

  "What about him? Torquil came to stand beside Oswyl.

  "I think he's dying."

  Caimbeul's body jerked as he coughed hard, bringing up a bloody froth from his lungs.

  "We all took our chances, Bear. We all knew he might get one of us. Torquil growled behind his lion's mask. Would you rather it had been you?"

  Malthus scowled, knelt beside Nesswen, and pulled the mask off Nesswen. He took a blue vial from his pouch, and lifted Nesswen's head up. Drink this. All of it. It will take the pain away."

  Nesswen took a long swallow of Pollendine, and closed his eyes.

  "All of it. Malthus coaxed in soothing tones, putting the vial to Nesswen's lips again. You must take all of it, or it won't help."

  Nesswen took another long swallow.

  "You do want the pain to stop, don't you?"

  "Yes, Nesswen whispered hoarsely.

  "Then take the last swallow. When we're finished, I'll find you a healer."

  Nesswen gave Malthus a look of gratitude, and drank the last of it.

  Malthus pocketed the vial. Grab a pillow off that sofa for Nesswen. It looks serious, but I don't think it's fatal."

  Oswyl put the pillow beneath Nesswen's head. Don't die on us."

  "I won't. Gradually the lines of pain eased in Nesswen's face, his eyes closed, and he lost consciousness.

  Malthus stood, walked back to Caimbeul, and kicked him. That's for Nesswen."

  "Did you like sticking him, little dog? Preece ruffled Rheu's hair. Do you want to stick another?"

  Fourteen-year-old Rheu looked up at Preece. It's exciting."

  Seeing what Malthus had done, Yren also kicked Caimbeul. For Nesswen."

  "I ought to cut his damned cock off. Shalto spat on Caimbeul. If he's Patton, as you say, then he's been sticking it in the women too."

  Preece parted his robe and pissed on the lawgiver. Wheee! He shook his cock to get rid of the dribbles.

  They all followed suit, until it seemed like there was as much urine as blood on the floor.

  Malthus pushed at them. We're losing time. Search the house. Find Clodagh."

  The youths dispersed, leaving Malthus alone with Nesswen and Caimbeul. As he knelt beside Caimbeul, he noticed the wolf's head Godmark on the lawgiver's chest near the junction of his shoulder. Godmarked.... Malthus ripped a piece of Caimbeul's robe off and used it to wipe the Godmark clean, careful not to touch it and burn his fingers.

  "I don't recognize it. I've never seen a godmarked lycan before. It's a shame you're in no condition to explain it. You were an interesting old wolf, pity you stuck your nose where it didn't belong. Malthus shoved his fingers into the wounds, glanced to see that he was alone, and licked them off. Delicious."

  Malthus took out a second vial of the fireborn poison, pouring a little into each of the wounds until he had used up the last of it. Then Malthus put the glass rod to Caimbeul's chest, beside, but not touching, the Godmark. He sent a lance of death magic into Caimbeul. The wolf's eyes bulged and he gasped like a landed fish.

  Caimbeul's lips silently formed the words, Cockwhoring bastard."

  "Intriguing. There's more life left in you than I expected. You might have been fun to play with in my dungeons. Malthus slipped the rod into his pouch, placed his palm on Caimbeul's chest, and stabbed his dark energies into Caimbeul's heart savagely.

  Malthus Readers gift swirled through Caimbeul's body, dining on his suffering.

  "Relax and it will soon be over. Malthus spoke in a venomously soothing tone. Fight me and the pain will be worse."

  "Go to hell, Caimbeul mouthed the words.

  "I've killed fireborn before. I can make it slow and agonizing or I can make it swift. It depends on how hard you fight me."

  "Damn you."

  Malthus lips drew back into a sneer. He sent a black wave of death into all the organs of Caimbeul's body.

  Caimbeul experienced a final flicker of consciousness.

  Malthus hit him again, harder still. Caimbeul's body jerked, gave a convulsive shudder, and stilled. His lips parted and his eyes stared unseeing. An intense erotic pleasure rippled through Malthus in the instant that Caimbeul died. It whetted his necromantic hunger and he wanted more.

  "That's it. We called their names. I'll have to make certain that Yren doesn't talk."

  The rustic village of Wolffgard contained mostly the traditional longhouses of variegated stone, with newer frame houses sprinkled throughout, painted in the forest colors beloved of the lycans. A single main street traversed the village, large enough to be called a small town, with numerous residential side streets. Malthus passed a large assortment of shops and establishments, including two eateries, a couple of taverns, a dry goods, a tanner's, and toward the end a blacksmith and a harness-maker. The majority of lycans were no more than semi-literate, hence the graphics on the signs over every place of business. Where human villages tended to be dirty, with streets of dead brown, packed down earth, the lycan main street was thick with trees of all kinds and autumn-browned grass in a wide swath down the middle. Trees shaded the fronts and sides of every building, with tree rounds and benches for sitting scattered through with comfortable abandon. The lycans were fond of sitting outside and gabbing with whoever happened by. People stopped to nod at him as he passed.

  Reaching the center of town, Malthus noticed two guardsmyn nailing heads to the skirts of the scaffolds that the late lawgiver had ordered constructed some months ago. Dread and presentiment washed through him as he strolled closer to see them. Kynyr had just returned from some mysterious errand that Claw had sent him on.

  The first head that Malthus saw confirmed his fears. His stomach clenched and soured; his throat tightened; and he felt a pressure in his chest mingled of grief and shock. Heironim, my brother, they killed you.

  Malthus moved further along the row and spied the head of his close friend, Alexander Jondries. They got you too, Alex?

  The guardsmon nailing up the heads paused when he saw Malthus. Twenty-two sa'necari. Quite a catch, don't you think?"
r />   Malthus sucked in a fortifying breath before replying. Yes, indeed. Where were they caught?"

  "Hell's Widow. Kynyr took two units of Red Wolf soldiers in to aid Clan MacLachlan."

  Malthus walked the rest of the line, recognizing every face, myn he had known since they were children. It sickened him. Then anger swept in and drove the rest of his feelings out. You'll pay in blood, Kynyr. You'll watch the others die and then I'll kill you.

  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 was dark and pleasant. 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. The large hearth warmed the interior, driving off the autumn chill.

  A big tiger-striped tomcat lapped from a bowl of cream set by the hearth. Malthus had seen that ubiquitous cat before. It seemed to be everywhere he went.

  Between Kynyr taking his rightful place at Claw's side, the destruction of his units in Hell's Widow and the arrest of Yren Maddox, Malthus felt as if his plots were unraveling. He needed to put more pawns in play, and perhaps he needed a new set of them.

  One thing at a time.

  Malthus scanned the room spying Shalto and Oswyl at their usual table, enjoying a tankard of Old Hereward the tavern master's best mead. He joined them. I can't afford to be here long. Yren's been arrested for Caimbeul's murder. Have the others meet us at the cottage."

  Oswyl paled and glanced at his cousin, his nostrils flaring, and a mute O forming on his lips.

  Shalto stared into his tankard a moment as he composed his face. We'll leave first."

  Malthus lifted his head and said loudly, I'll have to postpone my trip to Hell's Widow for a few days. They caught one of the assholes that murdered poor Caimbeul."

  Heads turned and people began asking him questions. Malthus told them the bare facts of his encounter with Claw and Belgair in the foyer.

  "I always knew that one was no good. Hereward Wiggins took his spiked club with the silver nails from behind the counter and laid it where everyone could see.

  His daughters waited tables. Hereward dressed them for coquetry to sell more liquor, and then applied a spiked club to anyone who tried to touch them inappropriately. Hereward had always protected his pretty daughters to such a degree that they were like forbidden fruit begging to be tasted. All the dogs wanted them; and none of them had the courage to beard the tavernmaster in his den for a taste.