No more skulking around the woods, no more slow painful rebuilding of his lung and liver using the traces of Power that trickled past Fiona's walls. He stood up and stretched, lazily, completely, like one of Fiona's cats.
There were debts to be collected. People owed him blood.
He picked up the knife and pack--Brian's knife and Brian's pack. How generous of Little Brother to provide both food and weapon. Now Sean had to return them with proper thanks.
He relaxed his mouth into his slow, mocking smile. Fiona had a short attention span. A little nudge here, a touch of irritation there, the suggestion of some new novelty to be investigated, and he could move against Brian.
He glanced across the forest glade. Maureen's sister still sat there, briar wrapped around her wrist. When he killed Maureen, he'd own this forest. The sister wasn't going anywhere. She could wait. She was last on his list of chores, payback for the lingering ache in his side and the shortness of breath. Brian first, then Maureen, then tidy up the forest.
He drew Brian's knife and chopped a gouge out of the nearest tree, baring the sweet white sapwood underneath. A small payment on the older bitch's account. If he cut a tree, she bled. If she hadn't reminded him of where she lived, he wouldn't have found the need to blaze a trail.
He moved slowly through the forest, lazily, slashing vines and carving deep into the bark of trees, feasting on the tingle of inflicted pain that ran up his arms with each cut. What was her name? Jo? Jo owed him. This could be fun.
A twig snapped ahead of him, toward Fiona's, and Sean froze. If Dougal was dead, his pets might do almost anything. That rotting dragon hadn't been the worst thing in the forest, not by a long sight. At least it was rational and curious, as well as hungry. Most of the other beasts were just hungry.
Something moved between the trees, and Sean crouched behind a bush to watch. The shape resolved into a man, a big man, a man carrying something heavy.
Brian.
Brian walked free, through the woods, carrying a woman across his shoulders. Sean caught a flash of red hair from the draped body.
Brian and Maureen. They came from Fiona's cottage.
Fear washed through Sean, followed by rage. His twin was dead. That's why he was free. Brian and Maureen coming from Fiona's cottage meant Fiona was dead.
Caution chilled his rage before he could move. Brian was dangerous. Maureen was dangerous. Attacking them together called for an ambush to crush them without any chance of defense.
Sean loosed a tendril of Power, the merest wisp of fog testing his enemies. It would just be more of the forest's uneasy watchfulness, to Brian or Maureen.
Fierce joy flashed through his veins. He sensed nothing. Brian carried no defenses. Maureen felt as if she was barely even there.
Was she injured? Was that why Brian carried her? Had their battle with Fiona left both of them so weakened? Sean smiled to himself, allowing the faintest beginning of a plan to warm his heart.
He pushed gently at Maureen and felt her stir. She slept. She seemed unhurt but exhausted, and he sensed absolutely no reserves of Power. Either she was the greatest actress since Hepburn, or she was helpless.
How about Brian? Sean's touch found weariness and hope. The Pendragon was still strong, too strong for any kind of physical fight. But magic? Sean felt nothing. His brother, too, seemed helpless against Power.
Sean's eyes narrowed, and his grin widened. His heart raced with anticipation. He slipped from bush to tree-trunk to rock, curving in behind Brian and creeping closer, thirty feet, twenty, ten.
A twig cracked under Sean's foot, and Brian spun around. The Pendragon dumped Maureen like a sack of grain, drawing his knife.
Sean shook his head, in mock sadness. This was all too easy: no artistry, no drama. He loosed a stun-spell and felt it break across his brother. Brian toppled like a felled tree, all in one stiff piece, and a fierce joy flashed through Sean's blood. It felt like an orgasm without foreplay.
"Fiona won't save you this time, my brother. Nothing will save you. I'm not even going to waste my time gloating."
He lifted his knife and stepped forward and smashed to the ground. Sean spat curses and rolled over against the tight cords binding his right ankle.
Vines! He slashed at them, felt them twang like bowstrings, and jerked away, only to find brambles crawling up his left arm. Fire woke in his ankle, and he saw blood blossoming through the cloth of his pants. He hacked again and again, chopping to right and left, but the ground crawled underneath him and thorns tore at his flesh.
"Fiona!"
The forest swallowed his shout. The forest tangled him. The forest threw vines and brambles around him to drag him down, to drown him, to suck his blood as it had sucked blood and soul from the others. Now both legs and his left arm burned in agony, as if tendrils ate the flesh from his bones. Sean thrashed in panic, triumph turned to terror.
His thoughts raced. Dougal had set this forest as a guard. With Dougal dead, it was an unchained monster. Sean called on fire to cleanse the land but felt his Power draining away with his blood.
"Fiona!"
But his sister was dead. She couldn't save him. Sean hacked frantically, sweat flying from his arm. For every vine he cut, three took root in his flesh and sent acid along his nerves. Brambles looped around his throat and bit him, forming sucker roots that pierced into his veins and drank. His brain fuzzed.
One thought still loomed through the fog. Kill. Kill before I die. Brian lay a few feet in front of him. Maureen lay to one side. Both were helpless. Sean hefted the knife.
Brian.
Sean pulled all his hatred, all his fading Power together, and aimed the knife.
