Exile's Return

He called himself Malthus Estrobian.

He lied.

His name was Malthus Tyrins, the bastard son of Sidera Tyrins and the late Waejontori Lord Feodras Iagaris. The Tyrins were a branch of the Romilays, a large extended family of arcane toxicologists who specialized in creating poisons and antidotes � although most of their wealth came from creating toxins and very little came from curing them.

He claimed to have been serving as a kandoyarin � mercenary � in a distant land when the Waejontori finally rebelled against their conquerors and occupiers, the Sharani.

He lied.

Malthus was a bounty hunter with a reputation for subtlety and resourcefulness. He was the Butchering Serpent, guilty of genocidal experiments against lycans, toxin testing and vivisections that left behind mass graves containing hundreds of bodies in them. Very few ever saw behind his mask and lived to tell of it � except for a few trusted allies.

He claimed to be human.

Malthus lied.

He was sa'necari-born; one of those necromancers notorious for having stolen all of the powers and abilities of the undead that they could take or control, assuming them through their rites, mastering and perfecting them in addition to their native arcane talents. This had been gained at a price, for they also had the needs and cravings of the undead, the unnatural appetites for blood. After generations of sa'necari being created in the rites, their very genes had altered until more and more of their descendants began to be born sa'necari with those appetites and powers manifesting in puberty. Their rites of blood, rape, and death had become merely the means for increasing their powers through the shattering of souls so that they could be eaten.

The more rites they committed, the more powerful they became. The greater the victim, the greater the power they gained from it. Some created legacies of power passed from parent to child through the rites. When a parent became too aged or injured to survive, the child rited the parent as they were dying. The late Waejontori prince, Mephistis de Waejonan had set an ugly precedent during the last Great War, riting his dying mother and stealing the legacy that should have gone to his oldest brother. With his mother's help, Malthus had taken that precedent to its logical extreme: he had rited every sa'necari noble carrying such a legacy that he could capture. Now, he was arguably the most powerful sa'necari in existence, although few realized it. He knew how to keep a secret and that it was better to be underestimated than overestimated in his powers.

Malthus used an embedded spell on the ring he wore to mask his nature, scent and sa'necari eyes. They could spellcord him, yet his eyes and scent would still be hidden. The ring had been a gift from Lord Daemon, who appeared to have an unusually substantial horde of early sa'necari artifacts.

When Tomyrilen Dovane de Waejonan had appeared suddenly out of nowhere, claiming to be the illegitimate daughter of the dead prince Shintar de Waejonan, and half-sister to the late King Baaltrystan, nobles and commoners alike had risen to follow her standard in revolt against the Sharani occupation forces. Malthus had been hired to eliminate the ruling family of Red Wolf and conquer it on the Queen's behalf. The valley would fall and Malthus would be well paid in gold, land, and slaves.

Because of his reputation, Lord Daemon had given him his choice of assignments. He had turned down an offer to send him to Rowanhart and murder the twin sons of Mephistis de Waejonan. His old rival Corradeo had taken that one. Queen Tomyrilen's claim to the throne was tenuous at best, being both a bastard and a female. In four thousand years, Waejontor had had only two queens and both had ultimately brought destruction upon the realm. However, once the boys were dead � Malthus supposed they must be around five years old by now � all the holdouts among the surviving sa'necari nobility would have no choice but to follow her.

That morning, Malthus went looking for his nieces. He had begun to regret bringing them with him to Red Wolf, but he had needed them to pull off his deception. Malthus had arrived in Wolffgard Village late last spring pretending to be a refugee from the war. He had needed something to justify his moving into the refugee camp called Sanctuary. A lone male would have been viewed as suspicious and probably told to keep moving on. However, the two little girls had gained him immediate sympathy, and the ploy had worked so well that he had managed to seduce and marry Merissa Redhand, the only surviving child of the lycan Chieftain, Claw.

Marrying Merissa had made his job both easier and more complicated.

His father had been nobly born, but Malthus came from the wrong side of the blankets. He would have inherited nothing, even had his father's estates not been burned by the Sharani conquerors. Five siblings on both sides of the blankets had been burned alive by the Sharani. Only Malthus and the two little girls were left alive.

Failing to find his nieces in either their suite or the manor, he walked out into the garden. The girls were not supposed to be outside without a guard, however they sometimes snuck out when no one was looking; and right then everyone was caught up in dealing with the murder of the lawgiver, Padruig Caimbeul, and the desecration of the Shrine to Willodarus and Tala.

The garden appeared empty at first glance. He walked the cobblestoned paths among the pines and evergreens, certain that they would not have left the manor grounds without his permission.

Near the rear of the gardens, in the southeastern corner of the manor grounds lay the Redhand family graveyard. Short hedgerows lined the sides and back. A rose arbor marked the entrance down a path lined with oaks. Rather than the open spaces that most humans preferred as a place of burial, lycans, especially the upper classes, preferred to clutter them up with trees, bushes, hedges, and flowerbeds, arranging their graves in sheltered rows. Until three generations ago, the Redhands had burned their dead, burying the ashes in small urns and planting a shrub over it.

There were only four graves: Suleahan's, Sorcha's, and the remains of Claw's twin sons, Tarrant and Logan. The Redhands had considered it a kindness that the sa'necari had returned the bodies of their sons for burial after riting them for treason during the Lycan Rebellion. Claw had been forced to watch the executions with Aisha, his wife, held hostage to his cooperation. Malthus' grandfather had written in his diary of the Lycan Rebellion that Claw had torn his hair and clothing and keened like an old woman when his sons' bodies were dumped in front of him after the sa'necari finished with them.

Lord Carneades Iagaris, Malthus' grandfather, had not meant it as a kindness. He had believed that having to care for their graves would serve as a constant reminder to the chieftain of what it meant to oppose the sa'necari.

Instead, Claw had turned the manor into a fortress, tripled his standing army, and according to rumor, booby-trapped the bridge over the Eirlys River.

Malthus walked down the shaded path and gazed at the graves of Claw's sons. The lycans were an emotional race, touch loving and demonstrative. He wished he could have seen the old bastard's face when they dumped the youths' mutilated remains in front of him. His grandfather said the style of mortgiefan used to execute them had been the Fifteen Piercings, one of the most artistic � and brutal � forms of the rite.

He wondered what Claw would do if he discovered the grandson of his sons' executioner was now married to his daughter. Perhaps he would inform the old bastard of that fact when he killed him.

A small-carved bear had been laid on Tarrant's grave and it startled Malthus. Many times over the past few months, he had found small offerings left on there, but not on the others. At one time, he had wondered who left them; a few months ago, he had learned that Kynyr Maguire was the son of Tarrant's bastard offspring, Branduff Maguire. Malthus had caught Kynyr leaving those offerings in the past.

He heard giggling and followed the sounds around to the far side of the graves. His nieces sat upon Suleahan's grave, smearing mud on the headstone.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Lyrri yelped and spun about. Ros thrust her lower lip out and scowled at him. "Having a little fun."

"You must stop sucking on Darmyk."

"You mean the nasty little lycan cub?"

"He isn't lycan." He felt a flare of annoyance that the girls insisted upon referring to Darmyk Redhand as lycan, when he was Merissa's illegitimate sa'necari-born son by her lover Isranon who was currently in hiding with a bounty on his head from Queen Tomyrilen.

Ros shrugged. "He came out of a lycan's belly, didn't he?"

Malthus squatted on his haunches and looked Ros in the eyes. "You're making him ill."

"So? You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

"When the time is right."

"I don't know why you're upset, Uncle Malthus," Lyrri interjected.

Malthus glanced at Lyrri, and then focused on Ros again. "They mustn't know you've got your fangs already. They'll spellcord you."

"They won't kill me for it." Ros tilted her head with a diffident smile.

"They might." Malthus pulled Ros into his arms and hugged her. "I love you, Ros. I would be heartbroken if something happened to you. Please, for my sake, find someone else to suck on."

"I have."

Malthus tensed. "Who?"

"Kissie's boy is quite tasty." Ros cocked her head and licked her lips. "Timerly lets me play with his dangly bits while I suck him."

"Have you blocked his mind?"

"I'm not a fool, Uncle Malthus." Ros' face changed into a mask of pique.

Malthus sighed. "At least pick a less obvious place for your sucking than the neck."

Ros shrugged again. "Okay."

Malthus walked away, uncertain whether he had gotten through to them or not.

Returning to the manor, he went looking for his wife, Merissa, and found her in the carding room. She sat in a large comfortable chair with three baskets of uncarded wool to her left and two baskets of cleaned wool to her right.

Her heavy golden ginger hair was pulled into a loose tail, leaving it bloused around her ears. One hand lay upon her swollen belly. Malthus moved the baskets aside and knelt at her feet, putting his cheek against her stomach. His twin sons moved inside her, bringing a smile to his face.

"They will be kings one day." He filled with pride at the thought of them.

Merissa flinched from his statement and laid the carding combs aside. "Must you be so rough with Darmyk?"

The mention of his stepson irritated him. Her first lover had been Malthus' half-brother, Troyes. Isranon, the bastard child's father, had killed Troyes over Merissa. Malthus tried for a moment to hold back his temper and then gave into it. "The child is spoiled. I have to take him in hand."

"He's a good cub."

"He's not a cub, Merissa. He's sa'necari. He needs a firm hand."

"Malthus, please…"

He rose to his feet. "I was going to suggest a walk in the gardens, but now you've ruined my mood."

Malthus heard his wife sob as he stalked from the room in high dudgeon.

GODWAR CENTRAL

Exile's Return