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own. He would rather be beaten himself than to watch others beaten. Then he
felt a soul shatter. Mortgiefan. Troyes was taking mortgiefan. Isranon snapped
his shields up, closing it all out as tightly as he could, retreating into the
silences as he had been taught as a child.
"I hate you. I hate all of your kind..." My kind. My kind... I am a monster.
What use is it to fight them? It is their nature, like the lions of the
forest. No. No, it does not have to be my way.
He was never certain how time could disappear, but darkness came. Troyes
emerged, standing in the door with blood around his mouth and a contemptuous
turn to his sensual lips. "Aren't you going to come in and eat?"
Isranon lifted his head from his knees and uncurled, not remembering exactly
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when he had drawn so deeply into himself. "Are they all dead?"
"Yes, half-a-mon, they are all dead."
Isranon released a long breath. "Then I will come in and eat."
Troyes stepped back inside, allowing Isranon to walk past him. The first room
was awash in blood. Troyes had played here. There had been no struggle. He had
taken them all easily with his power, snaring their minds with a touch and a
glance before they realized what he was. Three adults, all women.
The Sharani had few males. Although the curse that prevented nearly all
births of males among them had ended nearly fifteen years ago, it had done
little to increase the numbers of males. Only one in four were born male. One
woman hung from a door by her leg, her throat slit, her blood draining into a
basin. Another lay staked in the middle of the floor  that was the mortgiefan
he had sensed  raped and cut to ribbons. The third was tossed across the
couch half eaten. Isranon went to the kitchen, found a cup, and dipped blood
from the basin, drinking it thirstily. He felt dirty, but the blood tasted
wonderful; it soothed him. He saw stairs leading up. There had to be more
ugliness up there and part of him did not want to see it; but part of him felt
drawn to it. He climbed the stairs and found the children's rooms. Troyes had
raped the children before he killed them  but at least there had been no
mortgiefan; he had not taken their souls.
"If there is a god that listens to misbegotten creatures like myself, give me
a way to stop this." Then he shook himself, folding his hands behind his neck,
bowing his head in resignation. The only god who listened to the sa'necari
born was the Hellgod, Bellocar, and Isranon refused to either worship or
propitiate that one.
The words had become a litany, one that he often repeated in varying forms
and degrees. "Sa'necari do this because it is their nature, like the beasts of
the field. There is no way I can stop it. It is a fact of existence. At least
it does not have to be my existence."
It will be better when I reach Claw's farm. Isranon had probably spent more
years there, hiding, than he had fleeing the sa'necari with his father and the
rest of the Dark Brothers of the Light. They were all dead now. The sa'necari
had murdered them all as heretics. Isranon was the last.
He went through the adults' wardrobes, the Sharani were large, and found
clothing, tunic and pants that fit him. In Shaurone the sexes dressed closely
alike except for festivals when the women liked to show their males off, by
putting them in fancy robes and kilts. Then he went down again to the front
room. He put together packs of supplies from their cabinets and a pair of
bedrolls, which he carried out to the barns where he had glimpsed horses.
"We might as well sleep inside," Troyes said, following him out.
"I'll sleep in the barn." The thought of sleeping with the bodies chilled
Isranon.
"Then maybe I'll sleep in the barn." Troyes brushed Isranon's cheek. "Do you
play nibble games, Isranon?" He flashed his fangs, which were still extended.
Troyes had asked him that before. But that had been within the precincts of
Mephistis' hidden citadel at Dragonshead. There, Isranon had had Mephistis and
the vampire, Dane Jayce, to back up his refusals to couple with and yield his
blood to the stronger sa'necari. Now he had no one and nothing, save his
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stubborn pride.
"No." Isranon knew that if Troyes pushed the issue it was a fight that he
would lose; he was overmatched from the start by Troyes. By never having
crossed the line and taken a life in the rites, his powers were little more
than a child's. He knew the spells of death magic and could use them, but his
powers were weak. He relied on his blades, strength and speed; but a mere
swordsmon had no chance against a sa'necari of Troyes' ability  even one who
had been trained by the lycans as Isranon had been.
"I've heard you like pain." Troyes' hand tightened on Isranon's arm.
Isranon jerked free. He was of average height, but already becoming very
broad through the shoulders and chest. He would be powerfully built when he
finished filling out.
"You've heard wrong." Isranon backed away, drawing his sword and filling his
other hand with power. If Troyes wanted a taste of him, he would have to fight
for it. He did not fully realize the import of what he had instinctually done;
but Troyes gave him an odd look, his head cocked, and withdrew cautiously.
"I know your kind. Never knew a sa'necari could do it."
"Just back off and leave me alone." Isranon went into the barn, curling up in
the straw. He had barely settled before he came instantly to his hands and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]