Queen of Darkness

males were shouting. When the Sanctuary door slammed, the Eyrien started running, shouting orders.

”What about that bastard?” one of the other men called out.

The Warlord Prince hesitated for a moment. ”Leave him. He’s not going anywhere. We’ll finish the kill after we take care of our new guests.”

Kaelas moved forward in stalk position, using all of his senses to keep track of the winged humans. Then, a burst of speed brought him to Morton.

One sniff of the body had him backing away, confused. Morton smelled like poisoned meat. He did not want to set his teeth in poisoned meat. But he had to get Morton away from the winged males.

Moving forward again, he brushed against the Lady’s shield, felt it recognize itself in the Ring of Honor he wore and let him in. He put a snug Opal shield around Morton’s left arm. When he took that arm between his teeth, the Opal shield was between him and the poisoned meat. Satisfied, he used Craft to float Morton on the air, expanded his sight shield to cover both of them, then raced for the trees.

When he was among the trees, he slowed slightly, but didn’t stop until he reached the hiding den KaeAskavi had dug. Releasing Morton’s arm, he studied the den. The human would fit easily enough without the pointed sticks- the arrows-poking out. But the Healer would need the stick part to remove the arrow. Wouldn’t she?

After a little thought, he used Craft to shear the shafts in half. He tucked Morton into the den and placed the sheared-off shafts next to him. Then he paused again.

He had never seen human Blood become demon-dead. He didn’t know how long it would take for Morton to wake and reclaim the dead flesh. But he did know that when Morton woke and found himself in a strange place, he would wonder if the enemy had put him there.

Kaelas pressed a forepaw into the snow near Morton’s head, leaving a deep imprint, then put a shield over the print, so that it couldn’t be brushed away carelessly. Morton would see the print and understand.

Pleased that he had worked out the complicated thinking required to deal with humans, he covered up the den, leaving a small airhole. A dead human didn’t need air, but the freshness would show Morton the easiest place to dig free.

Now to take care of the bad winged males.

After sending out a summons for the dark-Jeweled Arcerian Warlords and Warlord Princes to join him, Kaelas headed back to the village.

9 Kaeleerspan

Ignoring the official landing web, Daemon dropped from the Winds as close as he could get to Karla’s home. The moment he appeared on a street, he wrapped a Black sight shield, psychic shield, and protective shield around himself. He ran a couple of blocks, turned a corner, and stopped.

The street was full of struggling, fighting men. Blasts of Jeweled power made the air smell like lightning. Those who had already drained their Jewels, or had never worn them, were fighting with mundane weapons. He spotted some women, fighting desperately but ineffectively.

So familiar. He didn’t need the whiff of rot present in some of the psychic scents to recognize Dorothea’s hand in this. He’d seen it too many times in Terreille. Those whose ambition far outstripped their ability would sell their own people for Hayll’s ”assistance.” The fighting would eliminate the strongest males and females, the ones best able to oppose Dorothea, and the ones who were left…

This time he didn’t have to be subtle. This time he didn’t have to dance around the agony Dorothea would inflict on him if she suspected his interference. But being subtle had become ingrained in him. Besides, a silent predator was the most feared.

Smiling a cold, cruel smile, Daemon slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and glided between clumps of fighters-invisible, undetectable-and left devastation in his wake.

He entered Karla’s mansion. The fighting must have started here and spread into the street. He stepped over corpses, homed in on the psychic scents that had a flavor he associated with Dorothea, and killed those fighters so swiftly, so cleanly their opponents froze for a moment, stunned and confused.

A Warlord Prince wearing the badge of the Master of the Guard was fighting off other males near the staircase, using the last of his Jeweled strength to shield himself against three men who were still fresh.

Three flicks of Black power. Three men fell.

As he started up the stairs, Daemon saw the sharp hunter’s look in the other Warlord Prince’s eyes, saw the moment the man guessed something dangerous was climbing the stairs.

A White-Jeweled Warlord rushed at the Warlord Prince, forcing him to turn toward the enemy who was attacking.

Daemon climbed the stairs. Even exhausted, the Warlord Prince would have no trouble with the Warlord, and it would keep him occupied a little while longer.

No need to hunt for Karla’s room. The Ring of Honor led him unerringly, the throbbing against his organ irritating him enough to hone a temper that had already risen to the killing edge.

The door stood open. He saw a hacked-up woman lying on a blood-soaked carpet. He saw five men sending blast after blast of power against the shield surrounding another woman. Karla.

He didn’t know who the men were-and didn’t care.

Reaching up from the depth of the Black, he slipped under the men’s inner barriers and unleashed iced rage, turning their brains into gray dust and consuming their psychic strength, finishing the kill.

He was across the room before they fell. Kneeling beside Karla, he dropped the sight shield and reached out cautiously.

The shield around her held a feral, deadly hunger.

Not sure how to get through the shield, and wondering what he might unleash if he did it incorrectly, Daemon took a deep breath and brought his hand a little closer.

A flick of power against his palm. A tasting. An acceptance.

His hand passed, unharmed, through the shield.

”Karla,” he said as his hand closed on her arm. ”Karla.” Her rasping effort to breathe told him she was still alive. But if she’d gone so deep into a healing sleep that she couldn’t hear him…

”Kiss kiss,” Karla rasped.

Relief washed through him. He leaned over her so that she could see him without trying to move her head. ”Kiss kiss.”

”Poisoned,” she said. ”Can’t identify. Bad.”

Pushing her robe aside, Daemon laid his left hand on her chest and sent out a careful psychic probe. His knowledge of healing Craft was limited, but he knew about poisons. And he recognized at least part of this one.

”Get your hand … off my … tit,” Karla said.

”Don’t be bitchy,” Daemon replied mildly, probing a little more. Her body was fighting it far better than he would have thought possible, but she wouldn’t survive without more help than he could give her. He hesitated. ”Karla …”

”About… three hours left. Body… can’t fight more…”

Riding the Black Winds, it had taken him almost two hours to get there from Scelt. Pandar and Centauran were closer, but he didn’t know Jonah or Sceron as well as he knew Khardeen, and he didn’t know if the satyr or centaur Healers could deal with this poison.

Besides, Jaenelle would most likely head for Scelt. And that decided him.

”I’m getting you out of here,” he said as he started to lift her. Then he realized her hand was still clamped around the bladed stick. ”Sweetheart, let go of the stick.”

”Have to clean… the blades. Can’t… put a weapon away… without cleaning the blades. Lucivar… would skin me.”

Daemon almost gave her his succinct opinion about that, but glancing over his shoulder at the hacked-up woman, he swallowed any criticism he might have had about Lucivar’s training methods. ”I’ll clean the blades. And I promise I’ll never tell Lucivar you didn’t do it yourself.”

Karla’s lips curved in the barest of smiles. ”You’d be likable if … you weren’t so male.”