[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
had been standing at the head of the gauntlet, bending over Isranon's still
and bloody body. Mephistis had reacted with unthinking rage, believing the
youth slain, and battered Bodramet severely.
As powerful as Bodramet was, Mephistis was more so the Waejontori prince
had taken a thousand times a thousand mortgiefan, many of them from foes of
incredible power such as the fireborn warrior Kalestari Havenrain. Mephistis
had no peer. He was the paternal grandson of the most powerful banewitch of
all time, Aurean the Golden, Queen of Waejontor, whom Kalestari had slain in
the battle of Sharatier. Shintar, his sire, had beget him and three of his
four brothers on Aevrina Coleth, the only known Sharani banewitch there were
others still undiscovered who had in turn kyndied him and his brothers into
the womb of Aurean more than doubling the necromantic power of his bloodline.
His fourth and oldest brother, Baaltrystan, who now sat upon the Waejontori
throne, was a product of incest between Shintar and his mother, Aurean. Of the
four brothers, only Mephistis and Baaltrystan had been born sa'necari: a very
rare thing since most sa'necari were made not born. Estopholes, the middle
brother, had been made sa'necari only a few years past; while Farendarc, the
youngest brother, a duelist, was now dead, slain by Aejys Rowan last summer.
Farendarc had been no loss: Mephistis felt nothing for any of his brothers.
One single act had placed Mephistis beyond all others in power. The heritage
of Waejonan, the dark magics that sustained Waejontor, passed from parent to
child in unbroken succession through an act of mortgiefan perpetrated on the
parent by the child. The power should have passed from Aurean to her son,
Mephistis' father, Shintar. But Shintar had died before her. The power should
then have passed to Baaltrystan. Mephistis, however, mounted the dying Aurean
and stole the power for his own. One day he would mount his brother, ride him
into death, and assume the throne of Waejontor. Should the one who carried the
legacy of Waejonan ever perish by the arts of the lifemages releasing all
the fragments of souls and stolen magics then Waejontor would perish also.
Mephistis took the bottle from Bodramet, drinking from it, feeling the heady
power of the blood, remembering again the intensity of shoving himself inside
Aejys' dying body. Before she could die and yield to him mortgiefan, Aejys'
ma'aram, bloodmother, had shoved him off the dying paladin, grievously
wounding him with a sword thrust lengthwise through his sides. The hunger for
her remained, gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He had never been robbed of
mortgiefan in mid-rite before and his frustrated need was ravenous beyond
anything he had felt in his life. He had heard this need described by others
who had experienced it, but never expected to own it himself. Some sa'necari
were said to have died of reaction following mortgiefan theft. It would take
many lesser death-gifts just to take the edge off his need, but he dared not
venture so soon into areas where he could take one strong enough to ease or
sate him.
He had tasted Aejys: Only Aejys or another as strong could satisfy the need
burning in his cells and nerves. He took another long drink: the bottle was
now half empty. "I must feed again before we leave. I must have a death."
"My Lord?"
Mephistis paused, throwing him first a shrewd glance and then the bottle.
Generosity was the hallmark of a good leader. He had honed it to perfection:
he would beat his supporters, his lovers, and even his friends into submission
one moment, and then surprise them with gifts the next. It kept them off
guard, never knowing what to expect from him. "Kill it. I will bring back a
child for you."
Page 44
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Bodramet smiled happily. "Good hunting, lord."
* * * *
Mephistis returned in the late afternoon, riding a proud cut gelding and
leading three more horses. Three bound, blanket wrapped captives draped the
backs of two horses and, as he had promised, one of them was a child. The
third horse was packed heavily with stolen supplies. He had ridden openly,
trusting the snow to fill in his tracks. The prince no longer wore his
elaborate robes, clad instead in black woolen knee-length tunic and trousers
just like thousands of Sharani. He threw back his cloak as he dismounted,
turning to drag the first captive from the horses.
"This one is mine. The others are for you."
"My lord is generous," Bodramet replied, dragging the child and the male
adult into the first chamber.
"Make them quick kills," Mephistis told him. "We will raise the adults and
send them to feed on their people as a diversion. Give the hunters something
to worry about besides catching us. I want to be on our way by dark."
He carried the woman to the inner chamber, threw her down beside Margren, and
staked her out. Mephistis drew his baneblade, cutting away the woman's
clothes. She tried to scream, but only frantic gargling noises emerged for
Mephistis had torn out her tongue when he first took her. He stroked the blade
along her body, contemplating where to put it in that he would find most
satisfying. Then he decided and opened his pants, lifting himself out. His
member was hard and ready. He entered her, still stroking her with the blade
as he thrust deeper, moving rhythmically. He shoved the blade in repeatedly as
he moved to start the process of death, striking organs that could kill in
hours. He did not intend to take hours, but he wanted to taste her pain. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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had been standing at the head of the gauntlet, bending over Isranon's still
and bloody body. Mephistis had reacted with unthinking rage, believing the
youth slain, and battered Bodramet severely.
As powerful as Bodramet was, Mephistis was more so the Waejontori prince
had taken a thousand times a thousand mortgiefan, many of them from foes of
incredible power such as the fireborn warrior Kalestari Havenrain. Mephistis
had no peer. He was the paternal grandson of the most powerful banewitch of
all time, Aurean the Golden, Queen of Waejontor, whom Kalestari had slain in
the battle of Sharatier. Shintar, his sire, had beget him and three of his
four brothers on Aevrina Coleth, the only known Sharani banewitch there were
others still undiscovered who had in turn kyndied him and his brothers into
the womb of Aurean more than doubling the necromantic power of his bloodline.
His fourth and oldest brother, Baaltrystan, who now sat upon the Waejontori
throne, was a product of incest between Shintar and his mother, Aurean. Of the
four brothers, only Mephistis and Baaltrystan had been born sa'necari: a very
rare thing since most sa'necari were made not born. Estopholes, the middle
brother, had been made sa'necari only a few years past; while Farendarc, the
youngest brother, a duelist, was now dead, slain by Aejys Rowan last summer.
Farendarc had been no loss: Mephistis felt nothing for any of his brothers.
One single act had placed Mephistis beyond all others in power. The heritage
of Waejonan, the dark magics that sustained Waejontor, passed from parent to
child in unbroken succession through an act of mortgiefan perpetrated on the
parent by the child. The power should have passed from Aurean to her son,
Mephistis' father, Shintar. But Shintar had died before her. The power should
then have passed to Baaltrystan. Mephistis, however, mounted the dying Aurean
and stole the power for his own. One day he would mount his brother, ride him
into death, and assume the throne of Waejontor. Should the one who carried the
legacy of Waejonan ever perish by the arts of the lifemages releasing all
the fragments of souls and stolen magics then Waejontor would perish also.
Mephistis took the bottle from Bodramet, drinking from it, feeling the heady
power of the blood, remembering again the intensity of shoving himself inside
Aejys' dying body. Before she could die and yield to him mortgiefan, Aejys'
ma'aram, bloodmother, had shoved him off the dying paladin, grievously
wounding him with a sword thrust lengthwise through his sides. The hunger for
her remained, gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He had never been robbed of
mortgiefan in mid-rite before and his frustrated need was ravenous beyond
anything he had felt in his life. He had heard this need described by others
who had experienced it, but never expected to own it himself. Some sa'necari
were said to have died of reaction following mortgiefan theft. It would take
many lesser death-gifts just to take the edge off his need, but he dared not
venture so soon into areas where he could take one strong enough to ease or
sate him.
He had tasted Aejys: Only Aejys or another as strong could satisfy the need
burning in his cells and nerves. He took another long drink: the bottle was
now half empty. "I must feed again before we leave. I must have a death."
"My Lord?"
Mephistis paused, throwing him first a shrewd glance and then the bottle.
Generosity was the hallmark of a good leader. He had honed it to perfection:
he would beat his supporters, his lovers, and even his friends into submission
one moment, and then surprise them with gifts the next. It kept them off
guard, never knowing what to expect from him. "Kill it. I will bring back a
child for you."
Page 44
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Bodramet smiled happily. "Good hunting, lord."
* * * *
Mephistis returned in the late afternoon, riding a proud cut gelding and
leading three more horses. Three bound, blanket wrapped captives draped the
backs of two horses and, as he had promised, one of them was a child. The
third horse was packed heavily with stolen supplies. He had ridden openly,
trusting the snow to fill in his tracks. The prince no longer wore his
elaborate robes, clad instead in black woolen knee-length tunic and trousers
just like thousands of Sharani. He threw back his cloak as he dismounted,
turning to drag the first captive from the horses.
"This one is mine. The others are for you."
"My lord is generous," Bodramet replied, dragging the child and the male
adult into the first chamber.
"Make them quick kills," Mephistis told him. "We will raise the adults and
send them to feed on their people as a diversion. Give the hunters something
to worry about besides catching us. I want to be on our way by dark."
He carried the woman to the inner chamber, threw her down beside Margren, and
staked her out. Mephistis drew his baneblade, cutting away the woman's
clothes. She tried to scream, but only frantic gargling noises emerged for
Mephistis had torn out her tongue when he first took her. He stroked the blade
along her body, contemplating where to put it in that he would find most
satisfying. Then he decided and opened his pants, lifting himself out. His
member was hard and ready. He entered her, still stroking her with the blade
as he thrust deeper, moving rhythmically. He shoved the blade in repeatedly as
he moved to start the process of death, striking organs that could kill in
hours. He did not intend to take hours, but he wanted to taste her pain. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]