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There must have been twenty or more of them. Nevin had told him not
to hunt this side of the river, to stay on the clan lands. Yet, the buck
had been too beautiful not to bring down. Such tremendous antlers! At
fourteen, Isranon prided himself on his hunting skills. He had been
straddling the stag with his knife shoved into its throat to finish it
when the sa'necari appeared out of nowhere; making leering remarks
about riding and riting him. Isranon cut one of them and got loose,
fleeing.
The woods ahead of him thinned and he could see the bridge that
would take him onto clan lands where his pursuers could not go
without permission which the clan chief, Claw Redhand, would never
give them under the circumstances. He burst from cover into the path
of four horsemyn he had not realized were there because of his
concentration on those chasing him. Strong hands caught him by the
collar and yanked him off his feet, dragging him across a saddle.
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Isranon twisted and thrashed. The horse sidestepped uneasily. A fist
clipped his head in an admonitory thump.
"Be still, boy!"
Isranon looked up into a thin, almost effeminately sensual face with
a tiny goatee of silken black hair. "Let me go! Nevin and Claw
will& ."
"Are you lycan then?" The mon frowned, touching his face lightly.
"I'm here to buy horses from Claw."
Isranon's hair stood on end as the mon continued to touch him. He
felt the shivering goosebumps along his arms that betrayed the touch
of the mon's power. Isranon screamed. The mon was Reading him
and, in a moment, would know what he was.
"Sa'necari," the mon hissed. "And not blooded in the rites or your
powers would be stronger."
Isranon squared his shoulders the best he could despite being
draped head down. "Kill me and be damned. I do not fear death."
The mon laughed. "You were running away from it fast enough."
The boy's pursuers drew rein around them. One rode forward,
bowing low in the saddle to Isranon's captor. "I see that you caught
him, highness."
The mon tilted his head with a thin, indolent sneer. "Caught who?"
"The heretic. We planned to rite him when we caught him."
"There is no heretic here, only my young friend," the mon snarled
and then whispered to Isranon, "what is your name?"
"Isranon," the boy whispered back.
"There is only my young friend Isranon here and he is not a heretic.
Furthermore, he is under my protection." The mon's voice took on a
dark, venomous tone. "Touch him and I will destroy the lot of you."
Isranon goggled at the way they all started fading back into the
forest without contesting further. "Who are you?"
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"Prince Mephistis Coleth de Waejonan."
* * * *
The gray wolf sauntered into camp just as dawn broke, sniffing for
signs of the ones she sought. She moved with the easy step of youth,
picking out the various scents with swift sureness: Isranon. Darianna,
called Daree, had been excited when Merissa asked her to carry the
news to them about the child instead of one of the older wolves. She
had reached the Minnorian estate without trouble, only to find that
they had moved on and then spent months tracking them. Darianna
trotted along the edges of the camp until she picked up Isranon's scent,
but it was mixed with the scent of the Beast, which made her hackles
rise.
Darianna nosed along the edges of several tents until she found one
that smelled so strongly of Isranon that she guessed it had to be his.
The scent of the Beast was easily as strong, if not stronger. The low
groan of a male in pain emerged. Dread rose up in her and she stifled
the instinct to bolt from it in order to stick her head inside and look.
The Beast straddled one of her blood-slaves, feeding noisily. The
groaning mon stiffened, his chest rising sharply as he writhed beneath
her, his hands clawing reflexively into the blankets he lay upon, his
feet digging at the ground and then went still. She recognized him and
the wolf he clutched at convulsively before he lapsed unconscious.
Backing away, she turned to run had she had tears to cry in this form,
she would have and found herself facing Nevin. The scarred lycan
grabbed at her, but she eluded him.
"Daree!" he called after her, changing to chase her down.
He caught her, rolling her across the ground. She snapped at him,
but Nevin was larger, stronger, faster and had her by the throat before
she got far. Darianna stilled beneath him, signaling surrender, and he
released her.
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"Blood-slave!" Her voice cracked with the first words from her
throat as she changed. "How could you allow this to happen?"
"The prince is dead."
Daree's young eyes filled. "To be taken by the Beast is to die."
Nevin did not reply to that, knowing she was right. "What word?"
"The child is a boy. Merissa has named him Darmyk. For her
grandfather."
Nevin considered that. "Tell them I will stand as father in my
brother's place when we return."
"You intend to see it to the end?"
"I cannot leave him to face this alone. I will bring his body home.
He should be buried where he was happiest."
"You are stronger than I, Nevin. I will tell them."
* * * *
Anksha cleaned Isranon's neck with her tongue, tending the wound
she had left, making certain that it was completely closed. She paused
in her ministrations to listen to him murmuring a name over and over
without regaining consciousness. "Josiah& . Josiah." She frowned.
Sometimes it was Josiah and other times it was Mephistis. She knew
that Hoon had had something to do with both deaths, sensing it
through her link with Isranon. However, she had hesitated to ask
Isranon how he knew and what he knew. Hoon would tell her when he
overtook them.
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