Jhaec fell into his bed fully clothed, not even bothering to remove his boots. His whole body was screaming for sleep, and he was more than happy to oblige it. He should have listened to his grandfather and abstained from going with his overly energetic cousin to wave womp with the pony-sized dragons on the Fyreborn Islands. Actually, he shouldn't have even needed to be warned, for he had done it before with the same disastrous results. Daemonar had wings, and therefore didn't actually have to spend the whole time swimming. While Jhaec was very fit, most likely because he had the arrogant Eyrien for a cousin, trying to keep his head above water and aspiring to catch his winged friend for about five hours straight was enough to tire out even the most muscular man. Jhaec had finally become so weary that he had to use craft to elevate himself above the water, and even the Ebon-gray could only last so long in a body not strong enough to contain it. After spending about an hour sitting on the sandy shore, trying not to faint from fatigue, Jhaecyn had caught the Red wind and headed home, not willing to risk the Ebon-gray, which would require way too much concentration than what he was capable of at the time. For all he knew, Daemonar was still competing with the dragons to see who could make the biggest splash.
Sleep claimed him almost instantly, and soon his chest rose and fell in the slow, even rhythm that can only be accomplished by one who is in the deepest slumber. Unfortunately, this just wasn't Jhaec's day, or more accurately, night. Just as the sun was sending its first rays of light into the horizon to turn the clouds a brilliant deep purple, a loud, insistent knock sounded at the door of the young man's room. Jhaec bolted awake, managing to hit his head on the headboard of the bed. Cursing inventively, he put an Ebon-gray physical and sound shield around his room and promptly went back to sleep. About five minutes later, he was awoken once more when his door was forced open and slammed against the adjacent wall. The resulting noise was loud enough to wake him and every other person in the Hall. Hot temper filled him, and Jhaec quickly rolled out of bed and opened his mouth to tell his father exactly which corner in Hell he belong in when the silent rage in Daemon's golden eyes tore the words from his lips.
"The next time someone knocks on your door, you better damn well answer it. Someone could have died because you were too lazy to get your ass out of bed." The words were delivered in a soft, monotone voice that scared the shit out of Jhaecyn, but the light frost that began to cover the windows was courtesy of the younger man. A normal, sane person would have pissed his pants at Daemon Sadi's cold, cruel stare, but Jhaec had inherited the temper that made his father so volatile, and he gotten past the pissing in his pants stage by the time he had reached ten years of age. Instead of letting the conversation degenerate into a fight that would most likely end with Jhaec being either maimed or killed, the young man simply chose to ignore his father's comment.
"What happened?" Only an idiot would assume that the look of utter rage on the Sadist's face was a normal expression. Yes, his father was scary on a regular basis, but Jhaec had never seen his beautiful face so contorted with anger.
"A landen village just outside Amdahr was attacked by a group of disgruntled Blood about four hours ago. We need to bring healers and supplies and do what we can to help." Daemon was the Warlord Prince of the Dhemlan Territory, and therefore the responsibility fell on him to ensure the safety of the territory's residents, including the landens. It went unspoken that a watch would be set up around the village to make sure this didn't happen again. All of this was told to Jhaec as father and son walked down the passageway towards the entrance of the Hall. They were quickly joined by Saeton, Jhaec's grandfather, who was visiting from the Keep. The two Black Jeweled Warlord Princes moved off and conversed in soft, tense voices, and it was clear that Saeton was unhappy about something. If the High Lord was younger and…well, not dead, they could have passed for twins but for a few minor differences. The group was soon joined by three healers, Marian, and Daemonar, who seemed to be having trouble staying awake. Lucivar was currently dealing with a land dispute in Ebon Askavi, where he was the ruling Warlord Prince. Marian had been at the Hall for the simple reason that she had no one to cook for at her eyre and Mrs. Beale was slightly short staffed. While the sweet-tempered Eyrien woman wouldn't be able to help much with the casualties, she would could comfort those who grieved and could aid in rebuilding homes.
Someone was missing, but Jhaec couldn't name who so he put it out of his mind. Jhaec felt himself descend to the cold, sweet Ebon-gray. The Darkness consumed his whole being until the world seemed to become shrouded in a violent, red haze. When Saeton rested his hand on Jhaec's shoulder, a snarl escaped his lips unbidden, and he suddenly felt an animalistic urge to rip his grandfather's heart out and tear it to pieces. In a small corner of his mind, he knew that his feelings made absolutely no sense and were a bit hypocritical as he was part of the Blood himself, but for the moment he felt an intense hatred of every man and woman alike who was endowed with the power of Craft. They should be killed, every last one of them. But just because his grandfather was a Guardian and no longer walked among the living did not mean that his power had lost its potency, and when he slammed a tendril of his Black power against Jhaec's inner barriers, lets just say the Ebon-gray Warlord Prince wasn't so angry anymore.
Save it, puppy. We'll have enough trouble without having to add babysitting you to the list.
Jhaec hated to be called 'puppy,' and the High Lord knew it. Saeton gave his grandson a meaningful look before turning away to talk with his other grandson, who seemed to be having trouble staying awake. Jhaec closed his eyes, trying to regain at least a smidge of composure. When he felt sufficiently calm, which basically meant that he wasn't going to attack everyone in the Hall, he let his eyes slowly open, and found his father staring intently at his face. Just before he turned away, a muscle twitched along his father's jaw line, the only sign of emotion that the Sadist showed. While Jhaec no longer felt the urge to kill, the burning temper that was his inheritance filled him, and an angry fire filled his entire body with its malice. That arrogant son-of-a-bitch wouldn't even spend five minutes talking to him, but he would…
Leave it, damn you! We'll deal with it later!
Jhaec turned his cold regard on his grandfather, who's eyes were shrouded by half-closed lids a seemed to contain an eerie, sleepy quality.
"Can I assume that we're ready to go?" Jhaec angrily clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to work out some of the anger. When his palms started to bleed, he figured that probably wasn't the best idea and settled for glowering. A few minutes later, Daemon gave the signal that it was time to leave, but Jhaec couldn't help but feel that something, rather someone, was absent that shouldn't be. He gazed around him, checking off people in his mind. When he got around to naming the healers present, he finally realized what was wrong.
"Daemon, where's Jeanelle?" Jhaec had stopped calling Jeanelle 'Mother' about a year ago, when she had stopped acting like one. In contrast, he had always referred to his father as Daemon, for even when he was a little child, both father and son were unsure of their place with each other.
Daemon simply looked at him for a moment, hearing and accepting Jhaec's choice of words, and something flickering in his golden eyes caused a rivulet of worry to put the already furious man on alert.
"Its her moontime." That was all the answer Daemon gave, and it was more than enough of an explanation. Jhaec's mother was in her late fifties, and while that was considered a very youthful age for Hayllians, Dhemlans, and Eyriens, for Jeanelle, who was not from one of the long-lived races, it was the time when she began to move with less ease and her wrinkles began to become more pronounced. Her moon times were also very irregular, which managed to set the Hall on edge whenever she chose to reside there.
"Did you even tell her what happened?" Jhaec raised his eyebrows, pretty sure he knew what the answer would be.
"No. I didn't want to wake her." Again, the answer was short, the words full of an emotion Jhaec didn't want to name. Daemon swallowed hard, and for a rare moment, Jhaec saw a flicker of the man behind his father's cold and distant façade.
"Its time to go," With that, his father strode out of the hall into the breezy night air, and the large group that had gathered followed him.
When they dropped from the winds outside the village, it was late morning.
"Welcome to Cavalo." Saeton's voice was laced with a sarcasm that confused his grandson. Cavalo…where had he heard that word before? It wasn't Hayllian, Dhemlan, or Eyrien…It wasn't Del A Mon or Glacien… It took him a moment to name the language, and when he had that, the word came easily.
"Kind Ones?" He raised one eyebrow quizzically, surprised that a landen village would be named in Old Tongue. His mother had taught the ancient language to him when he was just a small child, but even now he still had only a small grasp of the complicated and powerful tongue.
"There's a herd of kindred horses that's been living about a quarter of a mile away from the landens for a couple thousand years. They named the village. What I don't understand is why they didn't feel the bloody need to warn them!" Saeton growled, his brow furrowed, thoughts running through his mind that Jhaec couldn't even begin to guess. "They promised me they would protect them…" The last phrase was said under the High Lord's breath, and Jhaec had to strain to hear it.
"What?"
"Later. We're needed."
Almost immediately, the smell of fire reached the Jhaecyn's nose, and he had to exert a lot of self control in order to remain remotely civilized. His father and grandfather didn't seem to be faring any better, which gave Jhaec a certain perverse pleasure in knowing. Daemonar while extremely angry, was a Warlord, and therefore did not have the savage instincts that were second nature to his grandfather, uncle, and cousin. Lucky him.
"May the Darkness be merciful on those who did this." Marian muttered as they strode towards the village, her gaze flickering worriedly from Saeton, to Daemon, and finally, to Jhaec.
Author's Note:
Okay, the last chapter kind of sucked. No, it really sucked. I am most likely going to rewrite it at some point. Please forgive me! Anyway, just to clarify, the landens do know of the kindred herd's existance, and they should have thought of it, which is something I intend to re-write. And I'm assuming that kindred horses wouldn't spook as easily as normal ones, but then again, I'm not Anne Bishop and I don't really know. Thanks Callie for pointing this out! Also, I am now allowing anonymous reviews. I honestly didn't even realized I had blocked them! Anyway, since more people can now review, please do!