CHAPTER THIRTY

"What do you mean, she rode to West-ormere?"

Neirin flinched. "She took ten guards with her, m'lord. They left before noon, fully intending to be back before sunset. If the village was as sick as the young man said, an afternoon might not have been enough."

"Or maybe the entire thing was a set-up. We don't know who the messenger was, or whether someone put him up to it." Jonmarc warred with himself over what to do. Ride for Westormere, and he and his men might ride into a trap—or merely incur Carina's ire by meeting her group on the road back. Wait for dawn, and they would be too late if the messenger had been a ploy.

"M'lord! Open the door!"

Vahanian drew his sword and cautiously went to open the door. A runner stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and his cheeks red with the bitter cold. "M'lord! A vayasb moru just dropped a body off at the main gates. Two of the vayasb moru guards went after him, but they lost him. The body's been drained, m'lord. This was beside it in the snow." The young man held out his hand and opened his fist. Carina's shevir, crushed and twisted, lay on his palm.

"Call up the guard—mortal and vayash moru." Jonmarc said when he found his voice. "We ride for Westormere." He paused, and looked at the runner. "Have the guards tell no one about this. Do you understand?"

The runner nodded, wide-eyed, and left to do as he was bid.

Gabriel met Jonmarc's eyes. "The bracelet doesn't prove that Malesh has Carina. It could even be a copy. If you ride out, you're playing into his hands."

Jonmarc sheathed his sword and reached for his great cloak from the peg on the wall. "I promised her I would always come for her. I'm going to keep that promise."

Jonmarc's soldiers pushed their horses as fast as the snow covered roads would allow. The vyrkin caught up to them just outside the manor, and loped alongside, making the trek seem effortless. The guard rode with swords drawn, on alert for danger, but the forest and the roads were empty. And as they rode, Jonmarc struggled to quell fear that threatened to rise into panic.

Finally, Westormere came into view. Lights glowed in the windows of the tavern and the houses. It was clear from the snow that Carina's party had traveled this way. Jonmarc chafed at the delay as the group stopped just outside the village gates. A soldier dismounted and warily approached the guard seated in the small gate room. At a distance, Jonmarc could see the soldier speak to the man without success. He gently shook the guard, and the man slipped from his chair to the ground.

At Gabriel's silent signal, the guards spread. Three of them, all vayash moru, kept close to Jonmarc. As they rode into the village, trampled snow and broken windows were at odds with the peaceful image from afar.

"She's likely to be in the inn," Jonmarc said.

The door was splintered, ripped from its hinges. All of the windows were shattered, and shards of glass lay like bits of ice on the trampled snow. Jonmarc felt his heart pound as his boots crunched on the icy steps.

"Sweet Lady of Darkness," he murmured as he stepped into the tavern great room. A ghastly tableau spread before them. Near the fire, three women lounged as if drunk, spilled mugs of ale in their hands, their skirts arranged enticingly as if they were strumpets frozen in a moment of revelry. Their pallor and the bloodstains at the bodices of their dresses told otherwise.

Arranged at the long great room table was a feast. The guards and a young man Jonmarc did not recognize were seated at the table as if about to eat. Carina sat at the head of the table, as unmoving and silent as the others.

With a strangled cry, Jonmarc ran past Gabriel. He pulled back Carina's chair and she tumbled into his arms. She was deathly pale, and her skin was as cold as the snow outside. "No, please, no," Jonmarc murmured, desperately feeling at her throat for a pulse and bringing away fingers bloodied from the two punctures at the base of her neck. "Carina," he whispered, holding her to himself, burying his face in her hair as he sobbed.

"Jonmarc." The voice sounded with compulsion, something Gabriel had never used with him. Now, it broke through his grief.

"Leave me alone."

"She's not dead, Jonmarc."

Jonmarc lifted his head, unashamed of the tears that streaked down his face. "There's no pulse. I can't feel her breath. She's cold as ice."

"Listen to me, Jonmarc. They meant to bring Carina across as a strike against you. But a healer can't be brought across. Whoever did this must have been young in the Gift not to know that. The healing magic won't accept the Dark Gift. My senses are sharper than yours. She isn't dead, and she isn't brought across. There's hope."

Jonmarc heard Gabriel giving orders to the guards, and was grateful to him for taking command of the situation. Gabriel called two of the vayash moru soldiers to him.

"Jess—I want you to find Riqua. Tell her what's happened, and ask her to come to Dark Haven immediately. Then go to Westmarch. Find the Keeper Royster. Bring him back to Dark Haven yourself.

"Kayden—go to Principality City. Find Sister Taru in the Citadel of the Sisterhood. Tell her what's happened to Carina. Bring her to Dark Haven—by magic or by our means, I don't care so long as it's quick."

Both men bowed low and left immediately. Two large wolves padded up beside Jonmarc: Yestin and Eiria. They took up an unmistakably protective position near Carina.

"It's like this throughout the town—all dead, and all posed." Gabriel's fist clenched. "Uri's playing with us. He wants war because he's sure he can win. He's wrong."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Burn the village. There was an outbreak of disease here—the young man told Neirin that most of the village was too sick to leave their homes. No one will question it if we say the plague took them and that we had to burn their possessions. We owe them a decent burial. A pyre will hide the death wounds, buy us time. If we're fortunate, we can bring Uri to ground before he and his brood do any more damage. The cost is too high for all of us if war comes."

Jonmarc swallowed hard, looking through the shattered windows at the ruined village. "How many?" he asked hoarsely.

"Neirin said that the messenger told Carina sixty people lived here," Gabriel said tightly. "Plus Carina's guards."

Seventy dead, Jonmarc thought. How many wars have started over less? He looked back to where Carina lay. Goddess! I want to fight. I want revenge. I want to feel the satisfaction of destroying the ones who did this. I've got to keep my head. If I take revenge, the truce will shatter. I know that there are honorable vayash moru. I know that Gabriel and Lais-ren and the others are as angry as I am. But many mortals won't make distinctions. Dark Lady help me! I can't, I won't be the cause of that.

"Let's get started," Jonmarc said.

The task was done by midnight. Jonmarc saw the same warring emotions in the faces of his guards that he felt within himself. Vayash moru, suddenly unsure that their bonds of friendship with their mortal comrades would be enough to transcend the carnage. Mortal soldiers, overwhelmed with anger and grief, wishing for a target to strike. That Jonmarc and Gabriel worked side by side throughout the night set the tone, and the night progressed without incident.

They laid the bodies in the inn, and set it to burn. Then, they burned the other homes and businesses. As the flames rose against the night sky, Laisren closed his eyes and began to sing, his baritone voice rising in a dirge. Other voices rose with his, clear and strong in the bitter night air. They walked back to where Carina lay bundled on the snow, still guarded by Yestin and Eiria. Jonmarc swung up onto his horse.