"Bloodsworn," he said in heavily-accented Common. He spoke words Jonmarc did not understand, and let his head fall back, raising his arms.
"He's given you a blessing," Yestin said without looking up. "He's asked the Wolf Father to heed your oath and deliver your enemy into your hand. You're fortunate. Such things are not granted to those outside the pack."
"Thank you," Jonmarc murmured as the medicine man returned his attention to Jonmarc's badly cut arm. He felt the tingle of magic as the wound closed under the shaman's touch, but it felt completely different from Carina's healing. The shaman laid his hands on Jonmarc's broken ribs, and Jonmarc could feel the warmth of his magic binding the broken bone together.
When the shaman had finished his healing, he turned to Yestin and laid his hand on the top of his head. In a quiet baritone voice, the shaman began to sing, and although Jonmarc did not understand the language, he knew it to be a dirge. He listened closely, and strange, wondrous images filled his mind, of thick forests and deep snow and the speed and power of the ultimate predator, of the solidarity of the pack and the warmth of the den. When the song was over, Yestin looked up, his eyes bright with tears, and nodded, unable to speak. The shaman carefully put away his things, murmuring prayers or incantations as each item was placed in his bag. He left the room, accompanied by several of the uninjured vyrkin. Servants brought out food-platters of raw meat for the vyrkin and a plate of cheese and dried meat for Jonmarc, along with a glass of brandy.
When they had eaten, the shaman appeared in the doorway. He wore a long cape stitched with runes that seemed to shift and move as Jonmarc looked at them. Around his neck on a broad strap hung four disks of silver. The first was a waxing moon, and the second round disk was the full moon. The third was a waning moon, and the fourth was a ring, symbolizing the new moon.
Two streaks of dark red paint had been added to the markings on his face. At his appearance, the vyrkin stood and gathered up their dead, filing from the room in silence. Gabriel touched Jonmarc's shoulder, approaching so soundlessly that Jonmarc jumped. Without a word, Gabriel indicated for Jonmarc to come with him. They followed the silent procession down flights of stairs hewn into the rock of Wolvenskorn's foundation. Through torch lit, narrow corridors, they moved steadily lower, and the air grew colder. After many turns, the passage opened on a huge room. Torches in sconces set the room in flickering light. Large smooth stones seemed to rise from the bedrock and disappear into the ceiling, and Jonmarc wondered if they were the same ancient pillars that ringed Wolvenskorn. On the walls of the cave, stories unfolded in detailed paintings made onto the rock itself. And in the center of the room a large slab had been pulled back to open a shared crypt. Laid out in front of the crypt were three shrouded bodies, each wearing a single silver disk on a thin leather strip around their necks. From their outlines, Jonmarc guessed that two of the bodies were male. And he was certain that the third, smaller body was Eiria.
The vyrkin ringed the crypt, while Gabriel and Jonmarc stood behind them. Jonmarc saw Yestin, black-clad like the others, standing near Eiria's body. The shaman stood in the front, between two large torches. When the room was quiet, the shaman began to sing, and his voice echoed from the rocks in the yips, growls and clicks of the vyrkin language. He began a slow dance as he sang, and Jonmarc guessed that it was a story in movement, although he had no idea of what was being told. Even without full understanding, the ritual was moving, and Jonmarc fought to keep control, to keep his thoughts away from his last sight of Carina, lying still and pale back at Dark Haven.
The shaman ended his song, and three of the vyrkin men stepped forward, gently lifting the bodies into their arms. Yestin sagged to his knees and made a cry of complete desolation as the bodies were lowered into the crypt and the heavy stone lid ground into place. The two men standing next to Yestin helped him to his feet, although it seemed to Jonmarc that Yestin leaned heavily on them for support as the group filed soundlessly from the chamber and back up the stairs to Wolvenskorn. Once back within the lower level of the manor, the vyrkin headed away down a corridor, and Gabriel laid a hand on Jonmarc's arm, shaking his head to keep him from following.
When the vyrkin were gone, Jonmarc turned to Gabriel. "Now what?"
"We rest. When we rise, we'll see if we can intercept Malesh at the next village." "What if we're wrong?"
Gabriel looked solemn. "Malesh wants to be found. He intends to confront you. I suspect that he knows how fiercely we'll protect you, and his goal is to reduce our numbers before he attacks you."
Jonmarc wandered into an empty bedroom. Beyond the mullioned window, the first streaks of dawn lit the sky. "I thought you had to be at rest before dawn."
Gabriel stepped up beside him. "Four hundred years allows me to see a glimpse of sunrise and sunset. I've missed them." He paused. "As Laisren told you, our strength grows over lifetimes. For those of us who survive this long, a few moments in full sun will burn us, but not beyond what can be healed. Much as if you thrust your arm into a fire. At first, the damage is reversible. After a point, no healing can restore what's been consumed. I don't fear death, but I'm no fonder of pain than I was when I was alive. As you saw on the battlefield tonight, there are better ways to die."
Jonmarc looked at the glow above the mountains in silence for a moment. "I expected
Malesh to be at the battle. I thought we'd fight, and it would be over."
Gabriel regarded him, as if guessing his thoughts. "Perhaps Riqua and the others will find a
way to bring Carina back. It's not impossible-it just hasn't been done before. There's still
hope."
Jonmarc did not turn. "Personally, I've never had much luck with hope."
Chapter Two
"That went well, don't you think?" Malesh of Tremont stretched out on the divan. Although he'd observed the night's battle from a distance, killing the Caliggan Crossroads villagers had more than sated his thirst.
"An excellent start," Senan replied. "Any particular reason you watched from the forest while the rest of us did the fighting?"
"For the same reason generals don't fight on the front lines. I wanted to see the way the forces aligned. See what Gabriel and Riqua could bring against us. And I wanted to see how Jonmarc Vahanian would handle true battle against vayash moru." "And?" Berenn asked. Senan and Berenn were two of Malesh's inner circle, young nobles near his own age whom he had brought across to make existence within Uri's brood more tolerable. Tonight, they took shelter together in one of Malesh's safe places, the remnants of a family crypt beneath the ruins of an old manor house. It was one of the many such places Malesh had prepared for the night when battle would begin. Comfortably outfitted with chairs and beds, stocked with a supply of bottled goat's blood and lanterns, this safe place and the others like it had room enough for Malesh and his coterie. "Our strategy is sound. Send the volunteers from the other broods against the Old Ones defending Vahanian. Pick off his best defenders."
"Vahanian killed three vayash moru himself," Senan countered. "I've never seen a mortal fight like that."
"Another reason to let the newer fledges find his weak points for us," Malesh replied. "Can we expect reinforcements? What of Rafe's and Astasia's broods?" Berenn asked. Malesh smiled. "Neither Rafe nor Astasia want to take sides. By not opposing us, they support us. Their broods are free to decide for themselves-and some of them are joining our ranks." "This must end."