Queen of the Darkness

quirk?"
    "It's the way Arcerians show contempt for an enemy," Lucivar said. He looked at Falonar, who seemed to be fighting not to be sick. A quick glance was enough to confirm that most of the men were doing the same, despite their experience on battlefields. "I don't recognize him. Do you?"
    Falonar shook his head.
    "I do," Rothvar said heavily as he approached them. "When he found out I was immigrating to Kaeleer, he offered me a place in his company. Said he wasn't going to have to lick any bitch's boots, that he'd be ruling a fine piece of land before a year was out. I never liked him, so I said no. But..." He glanced at the head, then away. "I heard... thought I heard... Did the cat speak true?"
    "He wouldn't lie." Lucivar took a deep breath. "Falonar, select four men to go with us." Looking around, he realized Surreal was no longer with them.
    Falonar turned, too, and swore. "Damn it, she's probably off someplace puking her guts—"
    Surreal leaped over the low stone wall and trotted toward them, a large, dented metal bucket in one hand. When they just looked at her, she huffed and said tartly to Lucivar, "Were you planning to tuck that thing under your arm to take it to the High Lord?"
    Lucivar smiled reluctantly. "Thanks, Surreal." He hesitated. His hands were already bloody, but he still hesitated.
    She didn't. With another huff, she dumped the head and hand into the bucket, then covered the bucket with a piece of dark cloth.
    The men winced. She snarled at them.
    Seeing the wariness in Falonar's eyes, Lucivar said, "You have your orders, Prince."
    Falonar and Rothvar left with more speed than discretion.
    "Tell me he hasn't done as much on a battlefield," Surreal said with a hint of bitterness. "I suppose everything would have been just fine if I'd clung to his arm and begged for smelling salts."
    "Don't condemn him out of hand," Lucivar said quietly. "He isn't used to a woman like you."
    Surreal turned on him. "And what kind of woman is that?"
    "A Dea al Mon witch."
    Her smile came slowly, but it was genuine. "I suppose I should have been more tactful." She waved a hand at the bucket, then hesitated. "I'd like to go with you."
    "No. I want you to stay here with the other women."
    Her eyes frosted. "Why?"
    Abruptly impatient, he snarled, "Because you wear the Gray, and I trust you." He waited until he knew she understood. "My eyrie has Ebon-gray shields, but Marian can key them. Don't let anyone in that she doesn't know—for any reason. I'll be back as soon as I can."
    Surreal nodded. "All right. But you be careful. If you get hurt, I'll smack you."
    Lucivar waited until she was out of earshot before he waved Hallevar over to him. "Send Palanar to my mother's house. He's to escort Lady Luthvian to my eyrie without delay."
    Hallevar shifted uneasily. "She'll take a strip out of the boy."
    "Tell her it's an order from the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih," Lucivar said. "Then I want you to keep an eye open around here. If you see anything, hear anything, sense anything you don't like, you send one of the boys to the Keep and the other to the Hall for help. The wolf pack will also keep watch. If you see anyone who doesn't live right here, whether you knew them well in Terreille or not, treat them as an enemy. Understand?"
    Nodding, Hallevar went off to attend his duties.
    A short time later, Lucivar and five of his men were flying toward the Keep.
----
    2 / Kaeleer
    Lucivar set the metal bucket on the opposite end of the worktable and watched Saetan pour fresh blood into a bowl of simmering liquid. "I thought you would be at the Hall, waiting for the reports to come in."
    "Draca sent for me," Saetan replied, lightly stirring the bowl's contents. "What brings you here?"
    "Morton is dead."
    Saetan's hand hesitated a moment, then resumed stirring. "I know."
    Lucivar tensed, then said cautiously, "He's in the Dark Realm?"
    "No, he's here. That's why Draca sent for me. He came to report."
    Lucivar paced restlessly. "Good. I'll talk to him before—"
    "No."
    The implacable tone in Saetan's voice stopped him—for a moment. "I don't care if he's demon-dead now."
    "He does." Saetan's voice gentled. "He doesn't want to see you, Lucivar. Not any of you."
    "Why in the name of Hell not?" Lucivar shouted.
    Saetan snarled. "Do you think it's easy making the transition? Do you think anything will be the same for him? He's dead, Lucivar. He's a young man who will never do a great many things now, who is no longer who and what he