The icy wind howled like a horde of banshees as it ripped the leaves from the oaks and birches, shredded the trembling mid-autumn glory of the aspen stands, and hammered the encampment of the Army of the Renunciate, which ranged across the road and through the trees to either side. A sleeting rain added to the misery caused by the savage weather.

The lycans remained in hybrid form as they went about their duties, their fur offering an extra layer of warmth beneath their wool clothing and cloaks. Only the vampires, fifteen Ymraudes and five venomous Lemyari, took the weather in stride.

Lord Isranon Dawnreturning and his General Nans Gryphonheart had begun to weld their army into a whole, uniting all the desperate types who had signed on with them. Vampires, lycans, humans, freerangers, and kandoyarin mercenaries, it was an army unlike any that had marched forth before; not only in its diversity, but in light of all the myn in its ranks that had sworn fealty and allegiance to Lord Dawnreturning. He was a Lord only by the declaration of others and not by birth, a man without lands or holdings, a former slave, and was now the first mage-paladin to Kalirion the Sun God in five hundred years.

The Command Tent was the warmest in the camp, due to a sheltering spell cast by the liege-lord of the army. Within its enchanted shelter, Lord Isranon Dawnreturning sat at the head of a trestle table with his officers and advisors gathered for the briefing.

He had received the scouting reports shortly before he called his officers together. Isranon had long ago decided that he would not lead from the rear, asking his myn to take risks that he would not. Especially now that the game of war had become so dangerous with the rise of the hellgod, Gylorean Galee, on the east bank of the Hillora River.

Isranon scanned the table. His gaze touched on every face, and finally settled on the grim-visaged chieftain of a lycan battle clan, Nevin Scarface sitting to his left. Nevin had once been his mentor and helped raise him, taking him and his now dead sister in after the rest of the Dark Brothers were massacred. The relationship had changed and they were now spirit-brothers.

"What have your scouts reported so far?"

Nevin's tongue touched the split in his scarred upper lip. "We found another deserted village a day's journey north."

"You will take me there as soon as the weather clears," Isranon said. "I want to be certain that it was the exodus ordered by the Sacred King and not something else."

Isranon nodded thoughtfully. When they had come south, they had taken the coast road to avoid the Sacred King and encountered none of the villages and towns that had been abandoned as their inhabitants fled north with her to Rowanhart in a god-decreed exodus. This time they had taken the West Bank Road that ran close to the Hillora River. After consultation with his general Nans Gryphonheart, Isranon had decided that the forest would help to conceal the movement of their army from any of the sa'nekaryiane's forces that might be watching for them.

This village just ahead of them was the third one they had found abandoned within two weeks. It troubled Isranon in ways that he found difficult to express, because it was little more than a gut instinct that something was wrong.

"We've seen no signs of violence, Isranon." Nevin leaned farther across the table. "No bones, no bodies, nothing except empty houses, abandoned barns. Many of the goods are still in the shops."

"I intend to see it," Isranon persisted. "I will go in ahead of the army, with a small unit."

Nan exchanged glances with Freyrick, her aide-de-camp. She had picked him up in Ocealay partly to act as a go-between herself and the other kandoyarin groups as well as to give her suggestions on how all the new myn could be expected act in given situations and how best to deploy them.

"You shouldn't risk yourself, Isranon." Nans' sapphire eyes hardened, and she fingered her long braid of cinnamon hair. "That's not a good idea,"

Travis rubbed under his nose uncomfortably and scanned the faces. He raised his hands in a fending off gesture as if expecting criticism. "Don't get me wrong, but I think you're reading too much into this, Isranon."

Isranon nailed Travis into his chair with a glance. "Am I? Granted these people could have accepted their priests warnings and fled north with the Sacred King. I'm told that the vanguard was like a city on the move. However, it isn't easy to give up one's home of generations. Look what happened to the east bank city-states."

"The people of the city-states had more reason to stay." Freyrick glanced at Nans to be certain that he was not speaking out of turn, and at her nod, continued. "For centuries, they were safe behind their walls. How could they have known that something had finally risen that they could not fight? We certainly didn't."

Isranon lowered his head a moment, staring at his hands. "I will have Anksha with me."

Anksha bared her fangs in a broad grin. "Might find demons for baby." She rubbed her belly where Isranon's magical child was growing. "He's hungry."

Isranon glanced sidewise at her, a small smile touching his lips as he reached under the table and pressed his hand to his wife's stomach. He was no longer her blood-slave, and she was no longer his master; yet no one had expected him to bind himself to her in marriage after years of reaching for his freedom. "If we find a demon, by all means eat it."

Anksha simpered prettily, and a chuckle ran around the table.

Isranon rapped the pommel of his belt knife on the table to retrieve his officers' attention. "I've been reading Josiah's journals. There are things that can consume a town or village and leave no remains to be found."

Around the table settled a silence, one finally broken by Amiri, the Ymraude bio-magicalist and bio-alchemist. "Like what?" Amiri wove her fingers through the beaded cornrows of her nappy hair.

"Like the brymaparusha, which eats even the bones of its victims, or the lamiae." Isranon ran his gaze across all of their faces, meeting every set of eyes, and holding each just long enough to communicate his absolute self-assurance and determination. "I'm doing this because I'm the only mage we have. When we reach Ildyrsetts, I intend to recruit mages. Then this duty will be shared. But until then, I need to do it."

With reluctance, murmurs of acceptance came around the table.

"From now on when an abandoned or nearly abandoned town or village is discovered the scouts will not go beyond the outer perimeter without me."

As the meeting broke up, Isranon gestured for Amiri to remain. "Have Randilyn bring me a couple of nibari."

Amiri frowned deeply, studying him with her head slightly tilted. "Isranon, you just fed hours ago."

Isranon rubbed his neck, bowing his head at the faint disapprobation in her tone. Not too many months ago that he would have agreed to whatever suggestions and orders she gave him in her role as one of his mentors. Much had changed since he stepped more fully into his role as leader of his disparate peoples, but in some areas, she could still make him question his actions. "I can't help it. I'm famished."

"Perhaps you should have some lunch."

"I--I want blood."

Amiri tugged at her hair. "Are you hurting again? You spent a good deal of power shielding the children's tents."

"A little." Isranon's eyes went distant. A year and a half ago, he had received copious wounds from the four blades wrought by the Master of Blood with Mondarius' divinator runes. While his attackers cut and stabbed him, they stole his ability to heal with normal blood. The injuries never healed right, and the embedded spells left in his body by the blades frequently caused the wounds to recreate themselves to varying degrees whenever he used his magic, and sometimes even when he did not. "I appreciate your concern."

Randilyn arrived, bringing Eevy and one of the new nibari, Farris with her. Isranon lifted his head from his folded arms and regarded them as his fangs descended from their sheaths.

"Is there anything more?" Randilyn asked.

Isranon shook his head, and flicked his hand at the tent flap, his eyes riveted on Farris.

He pushed back his chair. Immediately Farris went to him, kneeling in first position, arms behind her back, wrists crossed, and her head tilted to expose her neck. "You're very pretty," Isranon said, brushing her dark hair from her neck and shoulders.

"Thank you, lord." Farris glanced at him with sudden devotion. "And thank you for sparing me."

Isranon's brows knit, and he cocked his head quizzically at her, wondering where those words had come from. "What? No lives will be taken out of appetite or for pleasure among my people."

Farris arched her long neck enticing him. "I was to have died three weeks ago. Liuthan had promised me to Stygean for the young master's first rite on his thirteenth birthday. I have small children ... I--I had made the arrangements for another to take them. But now--"

"You'll raise your children, Farris." A shadow of grief passed over Isranon's face, for the sun god had prophesied that he would not live to see his children grown.

"Please have me, Lord."

Isranon opened her blouse, and caressed her breasts, playing with the nipples. "Are you trained in all twenty-six positions?"

"Yes, lord," Farris answered shivering.

"Your breeding?"

"Three Diamonds."

Isranon licked his fangs. "Not fang-shy?"

"Not in the least."

"Good." Isranon pierced her neck skillfully, swept her away to pleasant visions with his power, and sucked.

Farris moaned deep in her throat, the sound arousing him. He sensed her weakening and pulled out of her, licking the wound closed. "Lie down on my bed. Rest until I finish."

Farris obeyed, and Eevy took her place. Isranon's appetite had grown dangerously intense over the past month. It worried him. At one time, he could go days before the craving for blood became sharp, but now he wanted large quantities of it several times a day.

When Isranon had sated himself on Eevy, he sent her to the bed to join Farris. He went to them to satisfy another appetite. Anksha would be busy with her sa'necari blood-slaves for a long time that evening, sipping from many veins to reduce the Presence Pain in them, which resulted from the Dominance-Link she had set into every fiber of their being, body, mind, and soul, with her first bite.

Farris opened her garments, and drew her heels up to her buttocks in position three. Eevy, not to be outdone, assumed position four on her hands and knees. They were very well-trained, and already aroused to the heights of need by his feeding on them. Isranon dropped his clothing. He began with Farris--since this was his first time with her, while Eevy had sheathed his cock many times in the past. Isranon thrust into the palace of pleasure, moving with an intense hungry rhythm. Eevy, seeing that he had chosen to mount Farris, moved around and began to rub and lick his back.

"Isranon, I was just wondering if you could--oh shit." Travis stood staring in the entrance.

"Be quiet! Either step out or join us here."

Travis swallowed audibly. "Daree wouldn't like that." He ducked outside.

Isranon spilled his seed inside Farris, and grabbed his clothing, wrapping his robe around him. "Off with you both. You'll have yours another time, Eevy."

Taking Warrior in hand, he used the staff to get to his feet, and walked to the table, where he settled in a chair. Eevy and Farris ran out the door after dressing hastily.

"Come in, Travis."

Travis entered, still blushing brightly. He sat down across from Isranon. "Should you be doing that?"

"Doing what?" Isranon smiled with a touch of mischief.

Travis grew a bit more flustered. "Should you be playing Jack in the Orchard when you're married now? What's Anksha going to say?"

"You don't begin to understand our culture," Isranon poured himself a glass of wine and handed the bottle to Travis. "Nibari don't count as..." Isranon searched for the word. He spoke three languages fluently; unfortunately common was not one of them, although his fluency was increasing. He had spent most of his life in his homeland of Waejontor. When he found the word, Isranon started the sentence over. "It is not regarded as adultery among my people. A free woman, sylvan, human, or whatever. That would be different. Now, what brought you?"

"Daree. She went back for another look and says she smelled something nasty there. You were right, Isranon. Something strange is there. Something Daree's never smelled before."

"Find Nevin and tell him I said the scouts were to be kept at camp until I can ride with them."

After Travis had left, Isranon sat for a long time thinking. Farris' words about Stygean Loosestrife came back to him. He had not known that the boy had had a birthday that recently. Stygean was currently one of twenty-eight child slaves of sa'necari origin. The children ranged from six to thirteen years in age. When Isranon defeated Liuthan Loosestrife's coup in Ocealay, the rulers of that city-state had butchered every sa'necari they could lay hands on, adults and children alike. Out of several hundred households and estates, Isranon had only been able to rescue these twenty-eight children.

Anksha had collared the children and declared them to be slaves, but she had not ordered them branded. Isranon planned to free each child that could be turned to the light and away from the sa'necari rites of rape and death, but he had not told them that and did not intend to. Their parents were among Anksha's blood-slaves, and only death freed a blood-slave from Anksha.

The oldest two, Stygean Loosestrife and Jingen Scathwick, were his greatest concern: especially Stygean. Where Jingen was being eagerly cooperative, Stygean was openly defiant and hostile. They already had their fangs and sa'necari learned to kill at a very young age. He had to find a way to reach them. A belated birthday party might make a very good overture of friendship to Stygean. Isranon decided to hold one, and to also have Randilyn and Nainee collect all the children's birthdays into a list so that they could all have parties.

The children slept in a little cluster of tents, sheltered and warmed by Isranon's magic, segregated by age and nature. The tents of the sa'necari children were black oiled canvas; those of the nibari children were green. Predator and prey were not yet trusted to dwell together while the camp slept, and a guard prowled the darkness in the wretched weather to make certain that the sa'necari children did not leave their tent before an adult was available to oversee their actions.

Jingen Scathwick and Stygean Loosestrife shared a tent alone, because they were the only two who had matured into their fangs. Like the rest of the children, they had been born sa'necari. In ages past when the sa'necari were merely a cult of death and necromancy, the sa'necari were created through their rites of rape and death known as mortgiefan. However, over the generations, the rites had altered their genes and they had begun to be born sa'necari, with all the appetites and powers of the undead coming upon them at puberty. That made all of the children potentially very dangerous, especially Jingen and Stygean who had already passed into the first phases of sa'necari pubescence.

Stygean threw himself down on his bedroll with an angry flounce, his arms folded tight across his slender chest, and his dark gray eyes blazing. His long black curls flew around his face and then settled. "They wouldn't let me see my father."

Jingen rolled his eyes at Stygean. He lay on his back, pretending he was sticking a knife into someone with sharp gestures of his hands. "You really want to get out in this weather?"

"I. Want. To. See. My. Father." Stygean turned onto his side.

"I wouldn't want to see him," Jingen said in a disparaging tone. "He looks ghastly."

Stygean winced at Jingen's words, put two fingers to his eyes, and dabbed at the moisture gathering there. "He's withering."

"Huh! That's an understatement. The renunciate's bitch is sucking all the life out of him. All the magic and bio-alchemy. The way she keeps her fangs in him, I bet his mage net and shaukras are crisped."

Stygean swallowed and fought to keep his voice from cracking. "Shut up, Jingen."

"Why? It's a fact. He's dying faster than the others. That's what my mother says."

The black metal links of the slave collar chafed Stygean's neck, and he ran his fingers beneath it, letting the chill air cool his skin. Stygean refused to look at Jingen, refused to let Jingen see just how much his words hurt. Overnight Stygean's fortunes had plummeted from the heights of a veritable mountaintop to the depths of the darkest abyss he could imagine. His father, Liuthan had been one of the most powerful of the Five Captains of the Coast, who ruled Ocealay, and now he was a blood-slave of the Beast. Stygean shivered, remembering the fateful day that it all went wrong. He had watched his father and mother ride off to a dinner party and then fallen asleep reading, while he tried to wait up for them. Going to his parents' suite, Stygean was ambushed by a lycan who was going through their things, beaten, and tossed into the dungeons. Tears welled up worse with the images running through his mind. For reasons that Stygean could not understand, the other boy's mother was not withering, while his own father was wasting away even though they had both been taken on the same day.

"Jingen..." Stygean began and hesitated.

Jingen made another idle stabbing motion and rolled onto his side to regard Stygean. "What?"

Stygean ran his tongue over his lips. "Your mother ... is she withering?"

"No."

"Yet, my father..." Stygean could not say the word. His chest tightened and his throat felt as if a large hand was squeezing it shut.

Jingen snorted. "The Beast can make it happen faster if she wishes. No doubt, the renunciate encouraged her to do it. He might even had ordered her to." Jingen made a slurping noise. "Bio-alchemy all gone, wither away, wither away."

"Shut up!" Stygean shrieked and covered his ears, curling into a ball. "Don't talk like that."

Jingen chuckled a moment, and then sobered. "Like what? I'm not sticking the blade in. I'm just being honest."

"I don't like the way you..."

"I know you don't. But I don't want you wussing out on me. We made a pact, Stygean. You and I. We're going to kill the renunciate and avenge our families."

"I'm not going to wuss out on you."

"Good. Because, when the opportunity comes for us to stick blades into him, I want you doing your share."

Stygean sucked in an unsteady breath. "I can do it."

Anksha trotted through the camp wearing a heavy cloak with a wool lining pulled close about her, the hood partially obscuring her face. No one would be deceived by the hood, nor was she trying to deceive. She was just trying to keep the rain off. Anksha, one of the most powerful beings in the camp, stood only four feet ten inches tall.

The wind had abated, but the rain still came down, and the camp would not move on until the weather had cleared completely because the wagons would keep getting bogged down in the muddy road.

She held her cloak closed with one hand and patted her stomach idly with the other. It seemed to be taking forever for the slightest bit of swelling to appear. Anksha longed for the day when her belly would be huge and protruding with Isranon's child. With a touch of envy, she remembered how incredibly enormous Haig's nibari, Nainee, had been just before giving birth. Anksha wanted everyone in the camp to see her waddling around with a huge belly sticking out.

Being the last of her kind, she had never believed she would have a child, and that had left her with an underlying sorrow. But then her husband, Isranon, had crossed the gulf between their species with his rogue magic, and now his child nestled in her womb.

"How long does it take?" she muttered, impatiently patting her stomach again.

Anksha wove her way through the tents. Different colored tents and banners marked off the units and groups. The non-humans had the forward and center places in the camp, with the command tent where she and Isranon slept together in the precise middle of it all. The paths through the camp were arranged in spirals to hinder an attacking enemy from simply to riding right through and wreaking havoc.

Taking a short cut, she ducked through the narrow gaps between the tents in the lycan battle-clan's section. Those scouts had a black banner with a silver wolf's head flying above their tents. The weather did not bother them as much as the humans and there were several of them about in their transitional form. It tickled Anksha's sense of whimsy seeing them snouted and furry in their efforts to deal with the unpleasant weather, and she giggled softly.

"And just what are you laughing at, pet?" Nevin asked as she nearly bumped into him.

Anksha peeped from beneath her hood, grinning toothily. "You're furrier than I am."

Nevin grasped her arm, pushed her sleeve up, and compared his own arm to hers. Anksha was covered in soft pale fur to her wrists, up to the lower edge of her collarbone and down to her ankles. Nevin chuckled, looking at his coarse gray hair. "I think you're right, pet." He turned to his cousin who walked beside him. "What do you think, Olin?"

Olin smiled broadly, showing all the teeth in his half-snouted mouth. "We've got more hair than she does, except on our heads."

Anksha's stomach grumbled and she lifted her eyebrows at it.

"Sounds like you best get along, Anksha. You're eating for two." Nevin grinned and pointed at the pathway.

"Umm hmmmn." She trotted off.

The next section of the camp belonged to the Ymraudes. The all-female vampires of Ishla the Tinkerer had a green banner with a bold black squiggle that was the rune of their god. The five Lemyari camped beside them with no banner of their own.

An enclosed wagon like a house on wheels and painted green with the distinctive squiggly rune of Dynanna on the side drew Anksha's attention. Beside it, spread a large tent dyed the same colors and marked in the same way as the wagon. The weather prevented the bio-alchemist from cooking potions, so the usual sight of boiling cauldrons was absent. However, there were other things that could be done, and Anksha saw her blood-slave, Disharyl Scathwick, standing in the doorway of the tent. Anksha allowed only a few of her blood-slaves to move freely to any degree, and Disharyl was one of them because she had been Liuthan Loosestrife's principal bio-alchemist and Amiri used her skills a lot.

Disharyl smiled at Anksha, and opened the neck of her simple black robe to stroke her neck in invitation. Blinking, Anksha shook her head. Disharyl always pretended that she enjoyed Anksha's fangs in her neck; even though Anksha knew very well through the Dominance-Link that Disharyl hated it.

Anksha spied Amiri at the same time that Amiri noticed her.

The Ymraude wore a lightweight cloak just to keep her clothing dry. Weather rarely bothered the undead. The beads on Amiri's dozens of long braids clacked as she walked. She held up her hand to stay Anksha. "I need to talk to you."

Anksha halted. "Is it important? I'm hungry."

"I think it is," Amiri said in a serious tone with an edge of insistence. "I want to Read your pregnancy. I need to do frequent checks on you."

"I'm healthy."

"That's not the point. This pregnancy is highly unusual. I need to monitor it and keep records."

"After breakfast. I'll come back. I promise." Anksha ducked her head. Amiri, being a bio-magicalist and bio-alchemist, was always poking and prodding, trying to study Anksha, and sometimes Anksha got tired of it. "Isranon is not happy with you," she blurted out.

Amiri sighed. "I know. But I don't know what more I can tell him."

"You let him think he was a demon-eater and be mean to me," Anksha accused. But her words came out flat and soft. Since becoming pregnant, Anksha had mellowed toward Amiri and Isranon as her memories of what happened had blurred in an instinctual maternal spiral characteristic of her kind.

"Are you still angry with me?"

Anksha frowned, thinking furiously, but unable to hold onto any reason to be angry with Amiri. "No."

"Then you tell Isranon to stop it for me."

Anksha smiled. "I will."

Once more Anksha resumed her journey to the tents that contained her warm-blooded breakfast. All that remained to do was pass the nibari herd and the big scarlet tent. She saw Travis and Daree walking arm in arm.

"Hi, Travis! Daree!" Anksha headed for them.

Daree smiled, but Travis ducked his head and looked uncomfortable.

Anksha felt a catch in her throat, her nostrils flared to grasp their scents.

Daree dragged Travis over and he shuffled his feet as they stopped beside Anksha. "Still having morning sickness?" Daree asked.

Anksha nodded. She could smell the candy in Travis' pockets. He used to give her candy at every opportunity, but it swiftly became clear that the candy would not be forthcoming this time.

Travis stuck his hand in his pocket, and for an instant, Anksha hoped that the candy might appear yet. But he refused to look at her. "Morning, Anksha," he said in a clipped manner. He turned his head to the side and lifted it without meeting Anksha's eyes. "Come on, Daree. We got things to do."

Daree frowned as he drew her away. "Travisss," she hissed, drawing out his name out in exasperation.

Travis pulled Daree between two tents and out the other side just to get away from Anksha as swiftly as possible.

Anksha watched them go, feeling a sob rise in her throat. "You don't like me anymore."

The bounce left her step as she went on.

The nibari herd's quarters were marked off by green tents and a blank green banner. A single scarlet tent stood at the edge of the nibari section. The tent had an entrance on both the non-humans' side where Anksha stood at that moment and another entrance on the far side that opened on the humans tents beyond it.

Anksha forced herself to walk faster, and swept past the scarlet tent, her sharp ears picking up the noises inside: moaning, panting, and other sounds of sex. The majority of the nibari in their herd were female, while most of the humans in their company were male. In order to avoid dissention in the ranks arising over the non-humans' access to women and the humans lack of it, Isranon had established a brothel for the troops by rotating a portion of his nibari slaves to serve in the scarlet tent.

Captain Luck Settlesby emerged from the scarlet tent, finger-combing his hair, a pleasant flush to his cheeks, and a satisfied smile on his lips. He raised the hood on his cloak and fell into step beside Anksha. "Where are you going?"

"I'm hungry."

"Can I walk you to the blood-slaves tents?"

Anksha grinned large, displaying her impressive fangs. "Yes."

"So how's little mama lion today?"

"Just fine." She sighed suddenly. "Timadi is growing soooo slow. Can you see I'm pregnant yet?"

Luck chuckled, grasped Anksha by the shoulders to halt her, and ran his eyes up and down her. "Hmmmn. Actually, I can. You look nicely pregnant to me."

Anksha beamed and then snorted abruptly as she started walking again. "Travis says I'm flat as a flap jack."

Luck rolled his eyes. Travis had about as much tact as a half-blind badger and the wits of a speckled pup at times. He and Travis had served with Nans' search and rescue freerangers, Gryphonheart's Rowdies, for more than ten years. When Nans became a general, she wanted myn from her original Rowdies in charge of the new myn recruited in Ocealay. So she had made both Luck and Travis captains. Travis knew plenty about both fighting and rescue work, but not much else it seemed. At least that was Luck's take on the matters. "Anksha, don't listen to Travis. He don't know what he's talking about."

"Travis doesn't like me any more. He never gives me candy."

Luck caught the hurt look in her eyes. "He's an idiot. You can't help being what you are."

"He wouldn't let Daree talk to me."

"Aww, shit. Anksha, you listen me." He halted and grasped her by the shoulders, and then he curled a finger under her chin. Luck lifted her head up until their eyes met. "I won't say it didn't come as a shock to a lot of us when we learned you weren't Isranon's familiar. That he was your blood-slave. You made a mistake, and then you fixed it. That's all that matters. Don't let Travis make you feel bad about yourself. He can only do that if you let him."

"It hurts."

"I know it. There's a lot of people that love you, Anksha. We understand you. I do. Nans does. Amiri and Zulaika and Randilyn. A whole lot of us. Promise me you won't let Travis get to you. You need to be happy. That baby feels what you feel. Just ask Amiri and she'll tell you."

"I'll try."

"Good girl."

The black tents containing the blood-slaves came into view. Luck walked Anksha to the edge of it and halted. "Enjoy your meal."

Anksha watched Luck leave. Travis had been Anksha's favorite among the Rowdies, until the day that she revealed her true nature as a demon-eater. More and more, Luck had moved into the position of friend that Travis had vacated. Anksha liked Luck.

The four guards nodded to her as she strolled among the tents deciding where to begin her breakfast. There were four times as many males as females among her blood-slaves. When Anksha rampaged through Ocealay, the night after Isranon had been taken captive by Captain Tamric, she had acquired fifty sa'necari blood-slaves as she uncovered Liuthan's planned coup against the city-state. Two had died before they left Ocealay, one of them Stygean's mother Chinisi, and three more had perished in the first weeks of their march. Chinisi had been too weakened by the ferocity of Anksha's attack to survive the march and so the demon-eater had gently put her down like an injured horse.

It all contributed to Anksha's current quandary over how to stretch her supply of blood-slaves. For the baby to be healthy, she needed a generous supply of richly mage-based bio-alchemical blood. Being around Isranon had caused Anksha to spend more time operating on reflection and less on instinct, which was not an easy thing for her to do, being essentially a creature of primal instinct, a consummate predator. Three factors stood out in Anksha's mind as she examined matters since the die-out of her blood-slaves had first begun. The younger ones tended to die first, so did the weaker ones in magic, -those less steeped-in-death--and finally her feeding patterns. If she fed too seldom on an individual, then the Presence Pain damaged them, and if she fed too frequently that also harmed them. On the other hand, if she wished to she could bring on the Withering with her first taste of their blood, as she had done with Liuthan.

Anksha sighed and continued her stroll with her stomach beginning to growl. She had to make her pick soon. With so many blood-slaves, it was difficult to keep track of the whichs and whens. Perhaps she should have Amiri make her some tally sheets or a checklist, set up rotations. She could have all the ones in one tent one day, and all of another the next, and so on. That might work.

Her stomach gave a particularly loud growl, and Anksha sighed. Enough thinking; she had to eat now. She ducked into a tent and found herself looking at four young sa'necari in their early twenties. Kaligulus, Hertsanin, Cautilya, and Tamyrlaenus glared at her. She could smell the lust and hate rising from them in conflicting waves. Kaligulus and Tamyrlaenus were steeped in death despite their relative youth. Both of their families had maintained a legacy that passed from parent to child through the rites of mortgiefan perpetrated upon the parent by the child for generations. Hertsanin and Cautilya had simply been hungry and eager for the rites, taking lives at every opportunity. They were all strong and healthy.

They wore the traditional blood-slaves garments, a knee-length robe with a sash that made it easy to open, and drawstring pants. Both garments were simple black wool. Slave collars circled their necks with their names etched into the metal along with the statement "property of Anksha." Her brand had been burned into their shoulders.

"On your knees," she ordered. "First position. All of you."

They hesitated, resistance and rebellion showing in every angle of their bodies.

Anksha snarled and hit them hard through the Dominance-Link.

Hertsanin and Cautilya screamed, falling to their knees and clutching their heads as she roared through their brains like a fire in dry timber. Kaligulus stood with his head thrown back and the cords in his neck standing out, straining against the pain of her intrusion in his psyche. Tamyrlaenus swayed, holding his head, but not yet off his feet.

Anksha hit them again. Tamyrlaenus collapsed, curling into a fetal ball, sobbing. Kaligulus still stood, but lines of suffering marked his face, which had gone pale and sweating. Anksha smiled venomously at Kaligulus, sauntering up to him. Her nostrils flared and she inhaled his anguish. Her gaze descended to his crotch and she could see his erection tenting his pants. Most of her command of them was related to the overpowering discharge of her pheromones. Anksha decided to play with Kaligulus rather than break him, and wafted her Circean fragrance across him. "You love me?"

Kaligulus' knees gave, his eyes went wide, and he fell before her as if mesmerized, offering his neck with a low moan. "I love you, Anksha."

"Shall I drain you to death this time, Kaligulus? Shall I kindle the Withering and watch you die in agony?"

"Please, Anksha. Do whatever you want."

"Then I will. First position."

Kaligulus linked his hands behind his back, tilted his head to the side, and arched his neck. Anksha yanked the sash and Kaligulus' robe fell open. She pushed it back over his shoulders. Without warning, she plunged her fangs into his neck and hauled his blood out savagely while burning through his psyche. He screamed, collapsing under her, and she followed him to the ground without releasing her hold on his throat. Anksha continued to suck and tear as Kaligulus convulsed, his heels digging at the ground, chest heaving, and fingers twitching. Dimly, Anksha heard Cautilya sobbing in terror.

When she had finished sating herself on the four of them and left them half-conscious and suffering in their bedrolls, Anksha headed for the childrens' tents to distribute a bag of candies.