Cyndere's Midnight by Jeffrey Overstreet

Author:Jeffrey Overstreet
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780307446138
Publisher: The Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2008-09-15T16:00:00+00:00

Like thunder before storms. That was the simple thought that rumbled in Jordam’s mind as he stared down the snowy slope.

He cursed Mordafey’s brascle for spotting him. He cursed Mordafey for coming so far to track him down. He would never get the boy safely to Cal-raven now. Either Mordafey needed him for that secret plot, or he meant to punish him for failing to fulfill the orders. Jordam had never been forced to imagine fighting all three of his brothers at once. He could imagine it now. It would not go well.

As Mordafey approached, whipping the horses, sitting on the driver’s bench of the lead Bel Amican carriage, Jordam could see the brascle, large-eyed and dark-feathered, its black beak glinting in the cold light. From the bird’s beak hung a strip of red meat, reward enough to keep that scavenger bird loyal.

Jordam wondered what had happened to the white-clad giant with the fiery staff. Then he marveled that Mordafey had not slaughtered the horses for food. Perhaps they were to be added to the stock of prizes for the chieftain. More Essence—everything increased Mordafey’s desire for more Essence. Everything became part of the game.

Jordam would gamble on that.

Mordafey raised the bird high, and the brascle flapped its wings. Mordafey laughed, boasting some kind of victory.

Bel, Jordam said to himself. Remember Bel.

“You!” Sneering from his place beside Mordafey, Jorn sat wrapped in a flowered blanket, his skin painting itself with the patchwork pattern. He had wrapped the merchant woman’s shawl around his head as if he was trying to disguise himself as an old Bel Amican woman, but Jordam knew that his hairless brother was just trying to stay warm. Long strings of yellow dangled from Jorn’s houndish snout, and his eyes were red. Through his bruises, he grinned wickedly at Jordam, and Jordam understood. Somehow, Jorn had blamed his captivity on him.

Goreth glanced out from the carriage, and before Mordafey could launch whatever rant he had planned, he leapt out and climbed the slope to greet his twin.

“Same Brother, you’ve been gone.” The brusque sound of Cent Regus speech was welcome to Jordam after so much struggle with Common. He would have to be careful, though, with his own words. “Look!” Goreth opened his hand, proudly displaying an array of bloodstained teeth, recently gathered—probably pulled from the merchants they had slain on the bridge. His grin seemed forced, frantic, and his laughter recklessly free, while his tail wagged and slapped against the snow. “Brothers took horses, wagons. Now we go to see the chieftain and the Sopper Crone!”

Jordam watched Mordafey’s face. “Went to rescue Jorn. You see now. He was gone. Got away.”

“You’ve been gone.” Goreth’s face crumpled, and now a wave of anger swept over him. He raised his hand to strike.

Jordam backed away, barking, “Goreth! Remember? I told you—strike me again, and I’ll finish you.”

Goreth retreated. “Right,” he mumbled, sullen. “Young Brother was caged. By weakerfolk somewhere. Can’t remember.”

“Where were y-y-you?” Jorn stuttered, eager for confrontation. Clutching

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