Exile's Return

Cooley Sinclair and his friends, the Scott cubs, Rory and Hamish, sat on the common with cups and a jug of a thick frothy beverage that John Donegal sold in his candy shop on Locust Street. Cahira had given them a half-holiday because they were being 'much too helpful' which they knew meant they were getting under her feet.

They had been scrounging for returnable containers along the alleyways and raiding people's trash. Eight-year-old Hamish earned two pence a week plus lunch for working five half days at Cahira's Potions and Notions, but often put in far longer hours out of choice. Rory, two years older than his brother, had recently become apprenticed to Cahira and now lived with the Sinclairs above their shop.

Cooley always had pocket money. He had been left well off, with substantial inheritances from his father, Cullen Blackwood, and his Uncle Eideard Doyle. Nonetheless, when his friends decided to go foraging, he went along without complaint.

Small for his age, the cub looked more like nine than just turned eleven. Not even the heels of his horsemon's boots could add enough height to make him seem older. He wore his white at the edge of blond hair in a long tail. The only thing that he had inherited from his Waejontori mother was his velvet brown eyes.

Rory took a long swallow from his cup, leaving a milky pink smear around his lips, and scratched at his reddish blonde mop of hair. Strawberry Delight was made from fresh goat's milk and strawberry syrup with a few other secret ingredients that Old John would not divulge. "We need weapons."

"What for?" Cooley gave Rory a long sidewise glance.

Despite the shoes and new clothes that Cahira Sinclair had bought for Rory, he still looked like a scamp. He had a snub nose and a sprinkling of freckles, reddish brown hair that never stayed combed for long and azure eyes that glinted with mischief. The citizens of Wolffgard considered him the town sneak because he always knew what was going on and showed up in unlikely places. His pockets bulged with stones and the end of a sling drooped from his left one.

"I gotta kill somebody." Rory ran his tongue over his lips to get every last drop of Strawberry delight and hiccupped.

Cooley choked on a swallow of his drink. "K-kill somebody?"

"Kynyr declared war on Malthus. We gotta do our part."

"Where did you hear that?" Cooley earned a scowl from his ten-year-old spiritbrother.

"I can't betray my sources."

Cooley knew he was in trouble the moment Rory started sounding like Todd Sinclair. "You mean which door you was � were eavesdropping at."

He had gotten into the habit of trying to correct his grammar lapses in response to having them pointed out at every turn by Cahira and Todd. However, it remained a hit or miss effort.

Hamish put his knuckles on his hips in his best imitation of Todd and demanded, "Spill it."

"Kynyr thinks Malthus killed the lawgiver." Rory opened his hand and showed them a milky white crystal. "Evidence is here. You gotta have a strong stomach to use it."

Cooley leaned close to see it better. "Where'd you get that?"

"I borrowed it. If you're gonna look, you better do it now. I gotta put it back before Kynyr knows it's missing."

"Who we gonna kill?" asked Hamish, ever the practical one.

"Rheu Lawson. He's a murderer."

Cooley chewed on his lower lip. He had wondered for a long time at what point his friends would get in over their heads and they seemed to have arrived at that point. "Do either of you know how to fight with a blade?"

Rory and Hamish shook their heads at him.

"Then you've no business with one." Cooley took a drink, watching his friends over the edge of his cup.

Rory had always told Cooley that he needed to learn to keep his mouth shut; and in many cases, Rory had been right. Yet there were many things that Cooley Sinclair, raised in a brothel until last summer, had kept to himself.

"You don't know nothing about fighting, Cooley."

Cooley's jaw clenched and then relaxed. "I don't know much about using my fists, but I know knives. My dad taught me."

"Does that mean you won't buy us weapons?" Rory scowled at him.

"That's right. Stick to your slings."

Cooley went home with his thoughts whirling. War was coming, if it was not there already. Dark rumors kept drifting down from the north, and it was impossible not to overhear at least a few of them.

Speculating on that led to a flash of memory that still made his stomach clench.

A pile of bleeding myn had materialized on the floor. Kady's chair toppled over as she jumped to her feet. Todd, however, reached them first, settled on the floor, and cradled his eldest son against his chest.

Trevor's eyes, dulled by pain and blood loss, fixed on his father's face. He coughed hard and blood ran from the corner of his mouth mixed with white froth. His lips moved, but no words emerged. Trevor's eyes closed and he sagged in his father's arms. Only the slight movement of his chest and the froth oozing from his wounds with each struggling breath showed that he lived.

Finn pulled the mon off Branduff, took one look at his eyes, and cursed. "Bloody sa'necari." He snapped his fingers at Kady and opened his hand. "Give me your knife."

Kady laid her knife in his hands. "They rise don't they?"

"This one's not gonna." Finn set to finishing the job that Trevor's earlier blow had started.

The three cubs clustered behind Kady and Finn, watching with macabre fascination as Finn sawed through the sa'necari's neck.

Todd looked stricken, but in command of himself. "Cooley, take Larkspur and find Pandeena."

Cooley ran out to the barn behind the house as if someone had set his tail on fire.

He would never forget that ride as long as he lived. Cooley had not bothered to saddle Larkspur, throwing himself onto her back as soon as he got the bit in her mouth and the headstrap over her ears. They raced through town as if they were chasing the wind and reached Pandeena in record time.

Cooley entered the shop and headed for the hallway that led to the stairs to the living area. A flash of movement made him pause and he saw Todd Sinclair emerge from the backroom.

Todd was a living legend, accounted the greatest armsmaster the clans had ever produced. He had studied the fighting arts of the Fae, the Guild, the Creeyans, and the Sharani. Every time that Cooley thought he knew everything there was to know about Todd, he learned something else that renewed his awe of the mon. Cooley had seen Todd working out during the summer, bare to the waist; seen the massive scars on Todd's chest and mid-section. Few things could scar a lycan, but it looked as if Todd must have encountered most of them � and lived to speak of it.

"You got that look in your eye, Cooley."

The cub froze and pivoted to face Todd. "What look?"

"Trouble waiting to happen."

"I haven't gotten into a fight in weeks." Cooley tilted his head to meet Todd's eyes. "Though Lani O'Connor sorely tempts me."

That elicited a smile from Todd. He had a strong, hearty face. The folded lines running from the wings of his nostrils to the outer edges of his lips were deep; the crinkles around his dark blue eyes were crevices in the stalwart earthiness of his features; his heavy eyelids did not lend themselves to clear expression of emotion, making any effort to read his features difficult even for those who knew him well. His calm, centered mien suggested a mon who did not go looking for trouble, but once it found him would be utterly relentless in dealing with it.

"Cooley, you have an uncanny knack for finding trouble."

"I don't find it, it finds me. My clothes are clean, my hair is combed. You can see I ain't…"

"Haven't."

Cooley gave an exasperated sigh. "I haven't been into any fights."

Todd came closer, forcing Cooley to crane his head back to keep looking him in the eye. The big lycan stood six foot three inches and weighed two fifty; yet despite his one hundred and seven years of age, Todd Sinclair was still mostly muscle and rock hard. His bright red hair was as much a Sinclair trait as was his size.

"Doesn't mean you're not thinking about it."

Cooley exploded. "I ain't some whore looking to roll johns."

"It's a good thing that Cahira didn't hear you say that." Todd chuckled.

"I'm trying hard not to talk like that … but sometimes … it just gets the best of me."

"I won't deny you're doing better." Todd patted Cooley's shoulder. "Iollen Newell stopped by a bit ago. Kady sent you some cookies."

Cooley let out a whoop and ran for the kitchen. Kady made the best cookies.

GODWAR CENTRAL

Exile's Return