Waylon's Crossing - 31. Chapter 31: Arawn Means Death

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 31: Arawn Means Death

“Kynan,” Alan whimpered.

“Change,” he said roughly, his grip on Alan’s neck painfully tight. He looked down into those huge, frightened eyes knowing full well what he asked, and forced a smile. They were both unarmed but although Kynan was hopelessly clumsy with his new maturity, Alan would at least stand a chance if he took his other form. Their one hope was of escaping notice, but with the stench of sex on them, Kynan knew he could not rely on hope.

A werewolf could change by moonlight, however small. Under a full moon, the wolf could not be denied. In the everlasting twilight of the Borderlands lurked a third form, half-man and half-wolf.

Kynan fought back his memory of the last werewolf he’d killed and urged, “Do it, Alan, I know you can control it.” If he was wrong and Alan went berserk, then he’d have to be killed, but Kynan wasn’t wrong. His wolf was strong and his will stronger.

“What’s happening?” Alan whispered, fingers digging into Kynan’s skin as he trembled.

Kynan caught Alan’s face in both hands, tipping him up to kiss his lips. In the dreamscape his control had been flawless, a caress of specific emotion. Now when Kynan tried to wield that tool, to impress upon Alan his need, it felt more like a club. Alan’s eyes crossed and he shook his head. His confusion and fear came across loud and clear. Kynan could only wish their bond was less one-sided, but he didn’t know how to fix that, or if even he could. Kynan felt everyone’s emotions, but he was learning how to deal with those from his experience on the dreamscape. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the energy or concentration available to focus on anything but decreasing the volume of Alan’s thoughts. As they’d learned in Xeran’s chambers, he could hear Alan, but Alan couldn’t hear him; however, Kynan had quickly learned that anything he felt, Alan also felt. It was maddening.

“Alan,” he insisted, drawing his attention once more. “Change. I’ll look after you.”

Alan bit his lip but squeezed Kynan’s arm as he nodded. Kynan got to his feet, all senses alert as he waited. He thought Timolin had reached the house; there was chaos enough emanating from all around that Kynan struggled to make sense of it. He groaned a little, distracted as Alan quickly stripped. He knelt, hands resting on his thighs, and drew in long, deep breaths. His face contorted as he concentrated, eyes squeezed shut.

The transition was not smooth and came in fits and starts as fur erupted from his skin, his fingers lengthened into claws, face morphing into what was not quite wolf but definitely no longer human. His body grew in size but was still small, muscles revealed briefly before the fur clothed his back, his shoulders, thighs, and the rest of his body. He had tail and ears when he opened luminescent, golden eyes. The ears pricked, one forward and one back, as the body tensed and Alan drew in a deep breath.

Lifting his muzzle up to the sky, Alan howled. He uncurled in a bound, his black fur rolling in the wind not unlike the waves of hay. Turning, he looked up at Kynan and his mouth opened in a panting grin. Kynan exhaled in relief and grinned back. Reaching out, he scratched behind one shaggy ear, smiling as Alan leaned hard into his hand.

They stepped apart instantly as Kynan sensed the attack. He dropped to the ground and Alan leaped, snarling, as a heavy, compact body dropped out of the sky soon followed by another. Then another and another. Their intentions assaulted Kynan and he shook his head, paralyzed for the seconds it took to find himself as Alan let go of his beast and the surrounding emotions became even more chaotic. Years ago, Kynan had read that wolves mated for life and the wolf in Alan would not be reasoned with when its mate was in danger.

Kynan saved his breath and rolled just in time to avoid a diving attack. The tall stalks of hay forced their assailants closer than they might otherwise have come and Kynan took full advantage of their cover. The flying creatures were well trained, silent but for the scream of air parting around bared swords, the wind whistling as they flew. Instinct warred with training and Kynan quickly knew they were in a lot of trouble. The fear from the house, the anger and fear of the attackers, and the werewolf’s directionless fury blinded Kynan. His wings stubbornly refused to do what he told them, when he could remember to think at all.

Bleeding and battered, he took the only course left to him: he ran.

The wings were heavy and a nuisance where they streamed out behind him, snagging on everything and nothing at all, whipping him in different directions when he inevitably stumbled. He fell sideways while dodging, landing with a cry of pain for the wing bent gracelessly beneath him. He threw himself flat to avoid the swish of a blade just inches from his head, rolling to his feet to run once more.

An explosion cut through the night air with enough force to send Kynan to his knees. Fire filled his vision as he looked back to see the healer’s house, its roof gone.

“Karadur!” Kynan screamed. Pain as he’d never felt before knocked the breath from his lungs. He could just look up through tear-filled eyes as he felt two bright pulses waver and dim. “No!”

*              *              *

There was too much knowledge behind Delaur’s baby eyes. Bryce threw back the blanket on his bed and returned to the window where he’d yelled at the werewolf and incubus only moments ago. He rubbed his eyes, muttering to himself, and hammered a fist upon the windowsill. An incubus! Of all things, the man they’d gone to rescue was part incubus! How had this happened? A demon and an incubus willingly mating? It was impossible! The race of creatures which were incubi and succubae had been exterminated! That had been part of the treaty which bought peace between the Worlds of Light and Dark. Bryce clearly remembered the Demon Queen pledging to send her soldiers to join the hunt.

A tiny hand patted the back of Bryce’s hand and he startled, jerking his hand back. The baby elemental, Aure’s child -- of this Bryce was sure -- sat on the windowsill. His big eyes were like dark iron in the twilight, sucking in all light to reflect it back. Although he’d pressed the little thing relentlessly, the elemental hadn’t yet spoken, just smiled cheerfully up him. It clearly adored him and Bryce loved him back, he was pretty sure, even if the age he saw in those silver eyes was spooky.

He got the feeling sometimes that Delaur was far more than he seemed. He also delighted in sneaking up on him, just like Aure had. A fang popped out as Bryce bit his lip to hold back the pain of missing his old friend.

Irritable at the summer heat and the reminder Delaur had presented him, Bryce climbed out the window and up to the roof. He perched on the eaves, feet in the storm gutter, and stared up at the stars. He sighed as the wind picked up, swirling the surrounding crops like the wind on the ocean, filling the air with quiet rustling.

So the half breed was the new Prince of Darkness. Also impossible! And yet Kynan was one of the Queen’s Hunters. Karadur had taught him and sponsored him, but by all accounts he’d achieved his rank all on his own. The Queen’s son. The Queen had a son! How could no one have known? All there’d been for years -- centuries! -- was the lack of demon offspring.

Bryce scowled. Demons were a dying race. He’d known this for the entirety of his vampiric existence. That’s why he’d come into being, and werewolves, too. The demons had been trying to save their race from extinction since before the Demon War. They’d captured many beings from the World of Light, to mate with them or experiment on them, and everything they’d tried had failed. Until now, Bryce thought, rubbing his chin.

No, no! He slammed his feet into the gutter, watching the tile break off and fall to the ground below. He was not sympathizing with demons, damn it! They were a cruel, bloodthirsty race and everyone would be better off once they finally all died.

The baby elemental leaned his cheek on Bryce’s thigh and stared up at him. He sighed. Oh, who was he kidding? He could understand the Queen making a devil’s bargain; she was trying to save her people. He didn’t have to like her methods, but Kynan … well, he didn’t really know the man. Even if the werewolf pup was totally enamored of him, that didn’t make him a good man; he was a Hunter, by the Light! And yet Aure had wanted to rescue him.

Bryce rubbed his head, feeling a headache lurking. What was the City’s part in all this?

There was always work to be done in a town kept in perpetual twilight. Folk worked and ate and slept at all hours, and the inn was always filled. Tonight, as Bryce lay thinking, he felt an odd sort of certainty creep into him. The town was quieter than usual, and, he suddenly realized, he hadn’t seen anyone out in the fields for hours.

The whistle was his only warning. Throwing himself sideways, Bryce went over the edge of the roof. He caught the shutters on a window and swung himself inside, shouting to raise the alarm as arrows thunked into the spaces he’d just absented.

He landed on a bed, and a lump which grunted. Braced on the windowsill, Bryce heaved the bed onto its side, immediately jumping over so that the bed now blocked the open window. “Get up!” he shouted, grabbing what he hoped was the collar of a shirt and dragging the body across the floor.

“H-hey!” Protests died as something large and heavy slammed into the bed frame. The bumbling head popped free of the concealing blanket. “Shit, what was that?”

“That’s trouble, is what that is,” Bryce called, already halfway down the hall.

“Eeee!” squealed Jacen. “Bryce!” Hooves scraped on throw rugs as the unicorn skidded and ran into a wall. He screamed again as more loud thumps followed.

“Get down!” shouted Bryce. He released the bolt from his crossbow as he flung himself back into the hallway.

“Aaauugh!” Jacen buried his head in his arms, butt in the air. He could swear the bolt kissed him as it went by.

Bryce watched with satisfaction as the harpy collapsed, bolt solidly in her chest. He grabbed Jacen and threw him into the nearest closet. “Stay in there and stay quiet!” he hissed, slamming the door. Bryce ran down the stairs, pausing on the landing to reload and shoot.

The downstairs of the house was swarming with people. Shouting and crashing from the front sitting room told Bryce where Karadur was. A blast of heat confirmed it and Bryce swore grimly. If this continued, the whole place would burn down around their ears. The ones he needed to get to were Azil and Duncan, holed up together with all the books Azil had brought with them.

The chaos deepened as lamps were upended and furniture broken. People were shouting and throwing things about, and obviously looking for something -- no, someone: Kynan -- because they all wore the same symbol as the mercenaries in the catacombs. Xeran had found them.

Bryce launched himself off the stairs, a blade in each hand leaving death in his wake. A blast from the side knocked Bryce straight through a wall, leaving him dazed as more debris came down on top of him. Orange-yellow light gleamed off in the edge of his blurred vision, flickering on a steel blade lying just beyond his numb fingers. He stretched, grunting with the effort, crying out as a booted foot kicked his arm aside. Looking up, Bryce saw a wide, evil grin, and then the sword descended.

The point gouged a hole by Bryce’s cheek and he recoiled as much as his trapped position allowed. Blood spattered him a second later. He blinked as Timolin, coughing from all the smoke, yanked him out from under the fallen bricks and plaster.

“Where’s Azil?”

A roar drowned out Bryce’s reply. He hit the ground a second later, grabbing up his knives, eyes watering and skin prickling in the heat. “What the hell?” he shouted. He couldn’t see anything beyond panicked shadows and Timolin’s ankle.

“That last blast wasn’t Karadur,” shouted Timolin, picking himself up. “It came from over there.”

Bryce squinted. “The mage!” he shouted back and pushed Timolin forward, keeping to the demon’s back as he fought through the debris.

They heard the human shouting before they saw him: “Per aspera ad astra!” The concussive blast lifted them off their feet and spun them around like so much broken furniture. On the verge of blacking out, Bryce heard a low groaning sound, sharp on one end and lingering so that he could hear a rumbling down in his toes.

“Timolin!” he shouted, rubbing his eyes clear of smoke and debris. “The whole place is gonna come down!”

“Azil!” Timolin shouted, his voice distorted in the confusion. He was no longer by Bryce’s side, but at least he was alive. Deciding that he also wanted to live, Bryce started crawling toward fresh air.

The people of Asphodel Fields had been wary of the demons in their midst, but they’d welcomed Bryce. He’d actually started to like the little town and its diverse inhabitants. They chatted with him whenever he visited the inn or went to the store or even just called hello when he walked the streets. The whole place felt relaxed and as if no one ever got into arguments or fights, but of course they did. His very first night, at the inn to find a meal, Bryce witnessed two men brawling over the results of a card game, but instead of breaking it up, the townsfolk moved aside benches and tables and took bets on the outcome.

He fully expected to find townsfolk rushing to the healer’s house. Even without the fire, it was the most exciting thing to have happened in years. But when he’d worked his way free to coughing and smoldering in the dusty street, Bryce looked up and found no one except a small group of men standing nearby. He had to blink several times to clear the smoke and grit from his teary eyes and see properly. The men wore Xeran’s black on black symbol and standing with them was a rust-red demon. She was clearly one of Xeran’s Hunters, from the bulging muscles to the curving horns to the way the others flinched away from her every time she moved. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest and legs spread, dwarfing even the tallest of her companions. From the way she drummed her fingers against her arm, Bryce figured she must be on the impatient side. Or, maybe, things hadn’t gone exactly as planned.

There was no way Bryce could take her on unarmed and alone. He tried to slink away again unnoticed, but it was too late. His head spun crazily as he got up to run and in no time at all found himself with his arms held tightly by someone who was clearly part troll.

“Vampire,” she drawled, as if she stood before magically induced bonfires every day. “You’re not one of mine. Where is Karadur?”

“Karadur?” Bryce repeated dumbly. The Hunter’s mouth twitched into something that might conceivably be a smile. Bryce shuddered.

“Big, black demon,” said the Hunter. “You can’t miss him.” She glanced sideways at one of her men; Bryce thought the man might have wet himself, but it was hard to tell with a nose filled with smoke.

“In the middle of nowhere?” he rasped.

She leaned forward until the huge, slitted green eyes were all Bryce could see. “Yes, here. We intercepted a message for the throne-stealing bitch. Karadur is here, and he found that for which he was sent.”

Bryce swallowed, but he kept on the very best of his poker faces. Karadur was the Demon Queen’s right hand. If he was killed on the eve of a coup, after losing her second Hunter amidst rumors of treachery, then the political structure of the demon world would collapse. There would be little remaining to stand in Xeran’s way once he captured Waylon’s Crossing.

“Don’t play games with me, Vampire,” growled the Hunter.

“He was in the house.” Surely they knew that already or why attack?

“And now?”

Daylight, her breath reeked! Bryce gave her a wild look. “I don’t know! I didn’t see, couldn’t see anything! There’s fire!”

“Yes,” the demon drawled. “Karadur,” she spat, and as she jerked her head to the side, Bryce saw fear in her eyes. The man holding him threw him where the demon had indicated and he crumpled, pretending to hurts greater than he’d received. Looking over them, Bryce saw that their uniforms and equipment were as varied as the people. Those who had escaped the burning house stood around squabbling with each other, some fighting or drinking, and some just slinking off into the dark.

Karadur was a powerful demon, second only to the Queen. It made sense that Xeran’s Hunter should be afraid to confront him, if this sorry lot of mercenaries was her team. Still, they had attacked, which spoke of a rich reward. Did they know of Kynan? Bryce remembered Karadur sending a message although he didn’t know what it had said. No doubt the contents were now on their way to Xeran, if he didn’t already have it.

“Shit!” Bryce murmured. He had to get out of there, but how? Without the human mage, they could not get back to the city, and without Karadur, how could they hope to stop Xeran?

There were people he cared about in that house! How dare they think they could just come in here and ruin everything? They couldn’t just attack his family and think they’d get away with it! He would kill them all!

Bryce shot up from the ground with a dark snarl of rage. Blood spurted over his face and chest as the first person he’d landed on lost his throat to Bryce’s teeth. Blood was everywhere and the scent of fear spiking from all around to call him closer. Humans! Only their fear of vampires was stronger than their hate. Bryce laughed and leaped for another victim.

The cluster around Xeran’s Hunter exploded with people running and screaming but Bryce cared not. He launched himself from one person to another, faster than the human eye. He dodged wild sword strokes, biting and clawing and laughing as the mercenaries in their panic attacked each other. Their leader shouted and screamed at them, and finally waded in to stop him herself.

Crouched on all fours in the dirt, face and hair streaked with blood, his fangs sharp in the shadows and the burning house at his back, Bryce was every inch the murderous creature in old pictographs. The demon facing him had her sword out, wary as she circled closer. Bryce just sneered at her. She had no idea who he was.

“Death, they call me!” he challenged her in the demon tongue. “You come to kill me and find only death! I’ll show you such nightmares as you’ve never even thought of! How dare you come here! I’ll feast on your blood!”

The Hunter froze and in that split second Bryce attacked. The elongated tips of his fingers latched into her chest like daggers before she could bring her sword arm to bear. She screamed as his fangs sank into her shoulder. He ripped her open like peeling an orange and reached inside for the heart, holding it up before her dying eyes and squeezing.