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Malthus did as he was ordered, taking time to refresh the spell on the bottle,
and brought it to Claw.
The old wolf poured for both of them. They sat, drank, and played cards for
two hours. Malthus smiled, joked, and deliberately lost to Claw. It kept the
old wolf happy and drinking his death. With luck, the next heart attack would
come sooner than Malthus had first anticipated. The fragrance of Claw's
discomfort, which was slowly turning into outright pain, pleased Malthus'
necromantic senses. He could almost make a meal off the taste and smell of
Claw's suffering it was so heady and strong.
Claw tensed, rubbing his chest, lines deepening in his face.
He grimaced and laid his cards down.
"What's wrong?" Malthus asked, his tone urgent. "Are you all right?"
Claw blinked and then grimaced again, the lines deepening in his face. "I
think I need to go back to bed."
"I think so too. Maybe you've done too much, too soon."
"Help me get back. I need to lie down."
Lie down and die, old wolf. That's the best thing you can do.
"I'll do it." Kynyr stepped into the room and past Malthus, practically
brushing him aside. He cupped Claw's elbow.
Malthus glared at Kynyr's back, visualizing a dozen blades in it.
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And you can die, too, Kynyr Maguire. I just need to decide how to do it.
* * * *
Caimbeul changed to Patton and went to the Difficult Horse to watch for Shalto
and Oswyl to turn up as they usually did.
He chose his usual table and put his back to the wall where he could scan the
room without fear of getting a blade in his back. Gwythyr, the son that
Pandeena had borne him, had died that way. Caimbeul still blamed himself for
it, although in all of his arguments over their son's death he had never
admitted it to Pandeena. Perhaps the time was drawing near when he would have
to tell her the full story and acknowledge his part in it.
Old Hereward the tavern master had begun to regard him as a regular and
automatically sent a nibari to his table with a tankard of mead without being
asked. He paid for his drink and dropped a few coppers down the front of her
blouse.
Even slaves deserved a few extras.
She giggled and he wondered what she would buy with it.
Probably ribbons for her hair. Nibari were silly creatures.
What they never tried to buy was their freedom. Certain genetic problems
ensured that they did not survive well on their own and rarely lived more than
a couple of years without a master to see to their special needs. The
sa'necari and the vampires had made a mess of their genes, Caimbeul thought
with a trace of bitterness, and it was exactly what they wanted to do with his
own people. It had been one of
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the dependencies the Butchering Serpent had been trying to create in lycans
with his experiments.
Shalto and Oswyl came swaggering in with Preece. Of all the Lycamornots,
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Caimbeul disliked Preece the most. Preece had a cold, quiet presence as if he
were measuring people for a kill. It reminded Caimbeul of the ones who had
murdered his son Gwythyr.
The trio spotted Caimbeul and joined him at his table.
"So I see you're still here," Shalto said, as if it had been he who had won
their last cock-wagging match instead of
Caimbeul. The old wolf let it slide.
"And so are you." Caimbeul took another swallow of mead.
He noted that they were wearing pairs of long blades at their sides instead of
the usual multi-purpose knife commonly carried by his people. "So do I get to
meet him?"
"He doesn't want to see you."
"I don't believe you've spoken to him yet."
Preece half turned in his chair, leaving one arm on the table, checking the
room before he spoke. "Don't mess with us."
"I think it would be a good idea if you stopped visiting our bitches," said
Shalto.
"I'll stop when I'm ready." Caimbeul drank down the last of his mead and left.
He headed home, taking a roundabout approach to it.
Walking along Elmind Street, Caimbeul paused in front of
Cahira's Potions and Notions. The shop was closed at that late hour, however,
if he pounded on the door loudly enough, someone would answer.
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He wavered in temptation, but he dared not change to his proper form and Todd
would receive him with suspicion.
The sound of soft footsteps made Caimbeul glance behind him. He saw Shalto and
Preece sauntering toward him. He assessed his situation with a scan of the
street and spotted
Torquil leaning against a building in the mouth of an alley.
Oswyl, Nesswen, and Yren waited at the other end. One or, possibly, two he
could handle; but not all of them at once.
Caimbeul darted around the side of the shop and jumped the fence into the
backyard. He crouched in the shadows, his back against the rear of the shop.
His heart pounding, Caimbeul crept across the yard and slipped into the barn.
The horses stirred uneasily in their stalls. He extended his fireborn aura to
calm them. Two ladders, one at each end, accessed the loft. Caimbeul picked
the second one.
Climbing to the top, he found himself in what appeared to be a cubs meeting
place. A small, low table sat in the center with the bales arranged as layered
seating. Resuming his true form, the lawgiver leaned back and dozed against
the hay as soon as he felt certain that he had not been spotted there.
* * * *
Trevor watched Kady work through her forms on the reed mats of the drawing
room that he had turned into a temporary salle until Erwin Twelvetoes could
finish the addition to the house that would include the permanent one.
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