[Author's note:

Although I'm pretty well satisfied with my outline for this one, this series is a bloody enormous undertaking, and this book, like the others, will undoubtedly require a fair bit of tweaking to make it all fit together. Enjoy the adventure and don't worry too much about minor points of continuity, k? :)

Also, please pardon the oh-so-creative working title. The only thing I could think of was 'Kas Gets Pwned Again', which, while descriptive, isn't exactly in keeping with the whole epic fantasy schtick.]

1

The smoke from the cane field rose straight up, and the Gulf was as smooth as a mirror. The smoke of Tavian's cigar was likewise vertical, and not a breath of a breeze stirred the feathers of his hat where it sat on the broad railing of the porch. His heels rested on the railing beside the hat. The toes of his boots made a V. Framed by the V was a slice of sea, and across that slice a chip of white moved.

Let us apply logic to this, he said to the voice that was always present in the back of his mind. It's possible the boat isn't moving by magic. Perhaps there are oars involved. I think it's moving too fast for that, though.

Perhaps it isn't a boat, replied the voice, heavy and hollow. Its weight was comforting and a little painful. Perhaps it's something else. A sea dragon. A whale. The voice always seemed to come from far away. It couldn't see through his eyes. He wouldn't have allowed that.

It's definitely a boat. Generating a breeze would've been the most efficient magic to use, but there's no sail, so it seems our mystery visitor has power to burn. It's smallish; a fishing boat, maybe. It's simply... It vanished behind his left foot, so he took his heels off the rail to watch it better. His boots thumped on the boards of the porch. He sensed a servant coming to the doorway to see if the sound meant he required something, but when he made no further move, the presence went back into the house. It's simply coasting along as if pulled by a string. Yes, it's leaving a wake. Towed by porpoises? The more I watch, the more I think it really is pure sorcery. Not even thaumaturgy. Sorcery alone. How... unreasonable.

Someone who knows better than to teleport to you, the voice suggested.

Tavian chuckled. Or someone who tried it and got a dunking. Well, we shall see. He stood and collected his hat, gave it a little brush and set it on his head. He took a pair of fine kid gloves from his pocket and drew them on. As he was settling his smoked-glass spectacles on his nose, the servant returned and wordlessly handed him his cane.

"We may have a guest for dinner," Tavian said. "Let us assume it's someone important. Tell Cook to impress us."

The servant bowed and left. Tavian trained his servants not to speak unless they had information to convey. He referred to them by their positions, or called them 'boy' or 'girl'. This wasn't uncommon among plantation owners, but he gathered the impression that others did it to distance themselves from the lower classes, perhaps driven by the subconscious fear so many of the new rich had of accidentally descending back into the masses. In Tavian's case, it was simply a matter of mental capacity. The lives of mortals were so very short, he couldn't possibly hope to remember all their names.

He set out for the beach at an easy stroll. The light reflecting from the shell paving of the drive hurt his skin. He welcomed the small pain, knowing it was temporary. A man working on the lawn paused his scything to bow as Tavain went past; Tavian gave him a cordial nod. It pleased him to see the equatorial sun gleaming on the man's black skin. He hired mainly local workers because he enjoyed their darkness. They were like people made of polished wood. They were also more likely than northerners to take his elaborate precautions against sunburn in stride. With skin as pale as his, of course he must wear a hat and gloves simply to walk across the lawn.

Half a mile from the house, the lawn ended, and the drive branched. To the right, it curved off through the fields to meet a road. Tavian took the left fork, which descended through shady jungle toward the sea. The clamor of birds and insects enfolded him. He heard a monkey hooting somewhere in the green dark. He closed his eyes and walked by spirit-sight for a while, enjoying the thickly woven web of life. His plantation was like a threadbare spot in a vast plush carpet. From this perspective, he could see the flame of his visitor's spirit out on the water. Nearly at the beach now. They would reach it at the same time. His stomach clenched with hunger a moment before he put a name to the familiar spirit.

Ah, I recognize that spark, he murmured in his mind. I wonder what he wants with me? I would've liked a little time to prepare.

Who is it?

Rema.

We have business with him. He's been chasing keys for his goddess. He nearly got one. A god may have intervened.

Which god?

In lieu of words, the voice sent him a thick dark sense of sarcasm. He ought to know which god. Tavian replied with a feeling of indulgent exasperation. Of course the keys belonged to Telar, but that was no guarantee against other divinities getting involved. Astaria's meddling was proof positive of that.

Before his internal conversation could grow too rancorous, he emerged from the jungle onto the pale sand of the beach. His skin felt tight, and he knew it would redden within minutes, then blister. He considered waiting in the jungle, but chose to shield himself with a spell instead. It wouldn't do to show weakness in front of Rema.

The Mara reached the beach at the same time Tavian did. Standing up in his boat, blood-red hair flying with the breeze of his passage, Rema ran his boat straight up the sand until he could jump out without getting his feet wet. He leapt lightly down, woolen robes thick with embroidery flapping and swinging. Tavian got a momentary glimpse of bare hairless shins before the cloth settled. Rema's outer clothing was the formal attire of a master mage, but beneath it he wore nothing at all.

Typical; all facade, no foundation, Tavian thought as he smiled and spread his hands in welcome. "What brings you to my little retreat, old friend?"

Rema bounded up the beach grinning. His black eyes were bright in his devastatingly pretty face. Crossing the Gulf in an open boat had done no harm to his smooth bronze skin. "A boat!" he laughed. "Can't you see it?" He siezed Tavian around the waist and swung him in a circle, knocking his hat off.

Direct sunlight seared Tavian's face like a branding iron. He gasped and shoved the Mara away, strengthening his shielding spell while he dived for his hat. As he clapped it on his head, its soft inner band felt like sandpaper on his skin. "For pity's sake, Rema!" he gasped angrily.

Rema beamed. "Oops!"

Tavian closed his eyes and counted to five, mastering his anger. Once he wouldn't have needed to count; Rema's annoying behavior had been a daily occurrence, and forgiving it had been a habit. He was glad those days were long over. When he turned to Rema, he was once again calm and cordial. "Never mind. You're like a puppy. You simply can't help it. Come up to the house; I've left instructions for a feast."

"I could eat," Rema conceded, and took his arm to hurry him. Tavian sighed in relief as they entered the shade of the jungle. Rema laughed. "This is a funny place for a vampire king, Tavian. Why are you here?"

"A vampire king, Rema?" Tavian raised an eyebrow. "As if such things lie about thick on the ground? Like apples?"

"The, then," Rema corrected himself with a shrug. "Still. It's funny." He waved a hand skywards. "Equator."

"I like the warmth. And the political isolation. The Tjindra peninsula is an independent republic just now. That's convenient for me."

"Oh." Rema waved that off, as he did everything he didn't understand. "Do you owe me any favors, Tavian?"

"No."

"What about that woman I killed for you? She was tough. She blew me up!"

Tavian had to pause a moment to recall what Rema was talking about. A woman who blew him up? "Oh yes," he murmured after a pause. "Lashika." She'd been one of his finest progeny for the first few decades of her unlife. Beautiful, strong, intelligent, and extremely talented in magic. But she hadn't been able to change with the times. Her response to the fading of feudalism was to clutch at its last threads with violent stubbornness. She had very nearly succeeded in raising a revolt in northern Semnia before he'd asked Rema to remove her. That had been more than a hundred years ago. "I repaid you for that at the time, don't you remember? I had a servant you coveted. Chekhani fellow with a long nose. You wanted to breed a race of warriors from him or something like that. How did that go?"

"Don't remember. I probably killed him. Oh well. I guess I'll have to owe you another favor then."

"We shall see. First dinner, then business."

"I guess I'm not in a hurry," Rema conceded. He raised an arm to point. "Is that field supposed to be on fire?"

"Yes. We burn it before we cut the cane. The fire takes the leaves off. They're sharp enough to hinder the harvesters otherwise."

Rema made a thoughtful noise, studying the fields that weren't burning. Perhaps thinking up bloody uses for cane leaves.

Arm in arm, they crossed the lawn toward the white plantation house. Long and square, built of native stone, it bore a superficial resemblance to the architecture of Verdichane across the Gulf. Its tile roof was glazed white rather than some fanciful color, though, and there were none of the gaudy little gargoyles and decorations that always adorned Verdichani gutters. Tavian enjoyed simplicity. There was no front door; rather, the whole front of the first floor was made of sliding bamboo screens set with sanded glass panes. On this windless day, they were all opened as far as they would go, so that the dining room was of one piece with the porch. As Tavian and Rema mounted the steps, servants began setting dishes at one end of the long mahogany table.

"This is a lot of house for one man alone," Rema said questioningly. He plunked down thoughtlessly at the head of the table.

Stifling a flash of irritation, Tavian took the other place as if he'd intended to all along. "It's expected. Most of it isn't even furnished. It would look strange to have a hundred workers and live in a little cottage no bigger than theirs."

"You need room for your experiments, I suppose."

Tavian allowed himself to be distracted by approving the wine so he wouldn't be tempted to answer. He loved to talk about his work. Having no one to tell about it was the one drawback of solitude. Not Rema, though. Rema ought not to know. He gestured for the wine to be poured. "This is illegal wine," he said with a quirk of a smile. "Piratical wine. The Fioradines have bullied some ridiculous trade restrictions out of our little republic, but Fioradine spirits are undrinkable, so we must do business with smugglers if we want anything decent."

Rema sipped thoughtfully. "Calan," he guessed.

"Close. A Calan grape, but grown in central Nestria, near Feignere."

"Isn't the climate there too wet?"

"Not in recent years. And do you know what's funny? The people -- the same people who planted these vines on a crazy whim and were astonished when they thrived -- these people haven't realized the climate's changed. They imagine their ancestors were simply too timid to stick a cutting in the ground and find out. Or they say the ones who tried it before were unlucky. A few uncommonly wet summers." He snorted. "No, the world's weather couldn't change. Sometimes I long to step forward and confess myself, simply so I can point out the trends that are so obvious with a few hundred years' observation."

"Don't do that," Rema laughed. "They'd kill you."

Tavian stifled a sigh. "I don't intend to. But you see it, don't you? The west is drier, the north is colder than when we were young."

"Hm. I think they used to grow crops on the Lar."

Tavian managed not to roll his eyes. "It's the Sei now. And yes, there used to be cities on the plains. How can you forget? I was born in one! I told you all about it!"

"I was talking about crops, not cities."

"You can't have cities without farms, Rema." Tavian gave up that conversation as hopeless. Of course Rema wouldn't be interested in the natural fluctuations of the world's climates. If a thing didn't further or impede his personal goals, it didn't exist as far as Rema was concerned. "Try some of the swordfish. Seafood is the cook's specialty." Unless it was the cook before this one. Well, it tastes like I got another seafood-specialty cook, if it was. Tavian ate delicately, just tasting each dish. He had no appetite for food, but made sure to keep a good cook and dine regularly to avert suspicion. He could appreciate the flavors, at least.

They ate in silence for a time. Then Rema suddenly blurted out, "Stiaan killed me last month!"

The girl who was setting out the fruit and cheese course nearly dropped her platter. Tavian glanced at her, then gave Rema a narrow look. "I think serious matters can wait until after dinner."

"But you were talking," Rema said innocently, watching the girl recover and beat a hasty retreat.

"They know I'm a mage. They know I'm very old, and my longevity spells have left me with a sensitive skin and very little appetite. They know I have my reasons to avoid the north. They don't need to know the details of my life or business."

"Oh." Rema considered that, then made a conspiratorial face. "Aahhh."

This time, Tavian did roll his eyes. Rema, busy shoving grapes in his mouth four at a time, didn't see it.

Evening was gathering as they finished. Tavian distracted Rema with a tour of the house until the last slanting rays of sun were blocked by the jungle. Then he invited him out to stroll, away from curious ears. Tavian left his hat, gloves, and glasses behind, enjoying the evening breeze in his hair.

"You ought to put something on your face," Rema commented as they made their way across the new-cut grass. "There's blisters."

"They'll heal when I eat."

"You just ate."

"I hope you don't want me to say 'when I feed' as if I'm some sort of parasite."

"Aren't you?"

"I strive to be a symbiote. The ones I drink from are paid well. At least, the women are. It's expected for a landowner to take several dusky mistresses. The local women have a reputation for being lusty."

"Are they?"

"I suppose so. I prefer to avoid such entanglements."

Rema laughed. "You prefer boys, you mean."

"Mortal ones? Not really."

"You prefer me."

Tavian sniffed coolly. "Believe it or not, Rema, not everyone desires you."

The next moment, he was pinned on his back with Rema sitting astride his hips, grinning down into his face. "You do, though," Rema insisted. "You want to bite me. Admit it."

Struggling for composure, Tavian heard his voice come out tight and flat. "Yes. Of course. Your blood is delicious. Let me up, please."

"And you want to fuck me."

"Let me up. We're within sight of the house."

Rema wasn't listening. He bent closer to breathe his words across Tavian's lips. "You want to beat me and cut me and burn me like you used to."

Tavian's loins stirred with interest while his stomach turned over in disgust, a combination only Rema could inspire. "That's what you want, Rema. I only ever wanted blood and company. Let me up or I'll use a spell."

"Who cares if they watch? Let's do it right here. You can kill them afterwards if you don't want them knowing."

"What, and have to hire and train a whole new household? I'm going to count to three. One... two..."

With a great suffering sigh, Rema stood and strode off, back stiff with offense. Tavian took a bit longer to stand, preserving the impression of frailty for his servants' sake. As he dusted himself off, he saw a handful of his men starting toward him with machetes, ready to rescue him. He waved them off. They turned back reluctantly. Despite himself, Tavian was touched. And freshly determined to conclude Rema's business and send him away, before the fool did something stupid in front of witnesses who would have to be killed.

He didn't try to catch up with Rema. As he expected, it wasn't many minutes before the Mara came stomping back, ready to vent his irritation. Before Rema could launch into a tirade, Tavian presented him with a different topic to rant on: "You said Stiaan killed you last month. Did you mean it literally? He can't have done much damage, if you're back already."

"He cut my head off and burned me!" Rema complained. "My goddess put me back together, or I'd be years coming back from it!"

"And what did you do to make him angry?"

"Why does it have to be my fault?"

"Because Stiaan is a serpent. He's subtle, cold-blooded and venomous. He does not, as a rule, lop people's heads off. At least not on a whim. If he'd taken time to plan a revenge upon you, you wouldn't be here. Ergo, you gave him some sudden offense."

Rema pouted. "I was playing with a mortal. How was I supposed to know he was Stiaan's? Anyway, Stiaan could've let me have this one boy. He could get another."

"Mortals may look interchangeable to you, but I assure you they're not. Clearly Stiaan wanted that particular one. He must've had a use for him."

"Or else he wanted the key. I don't know what use he has for it, though, and he's had plenty of time to take it."

Tavian felt the voice in the back of his mind stir like an undigested meal. He kept his interest out of his voice and off his face. "What key? You've lost me."

Rema waved a hand airily. "Oh, this key my goddess wants. I don't know what it does. You know gods. They like artifacts. Maybe they chew them like dogs chew bones."

"So you took it from this mortal, and then --"

"No, I didn't get it. It has to be given, see," Rema explained with a sneer of disgust. "I thought it sounded like fun, trying to get the boy to give it up, but he just wouldn't be afraid of me! No matter what I did to him! I know it hurt him, he screamed and screamed, but when he wasn't screaming he looked bored!" The Mara's voice had risen to a frustrated wail. "And he was so pretty and strong, he would've lasted me days, but stupid Stiaan had to come and take him away! I hate him!" Rema stomped his foot in fury; it sank so deep into the soft earth that he lurched and clutched at Tavian for balance. He didn't pause in his ranting, though. "He had spells all ready ahead of time! He pretended to taunt me but he was just walking a circle for his spell, that sneak, I didn't see it until he lit the spell off and then I couldn't do anything, and he beat me up and mocked me and then he killed me!"

Clever, Tavian thought. Remind me to research a damping spell that can be pre-cast.

His voice didn't answer. It wasn't his secretary. It wouldn't remind him. He knew that, but sometimes it comforted him to pretend he commanded the voice, not the other way round.

To Rema, he said sympathetically, "Well, that was very rude of him. But it was rude of you, too, to steal his mortal without finding out the boy was his. You don't mean to try again, do you? Your goddess will just have to chase a different artifact."

"No, she wants this one! And now Stiaan isn't letting it out of his sight! You have to help me, Tavian." Rema clutched his sleeve and looked up into his face, suddenly sweet. "You're the only one who was ever kind to me. My first and only friend. Get me the key, dear Tay, dear Tavvi, I want it so much, pretty please?"

Well, this is ironic. Have you anything to say on the topic? But there was no reply. Tavian smiled and smoothed Rema's hair affectionately. "Let me consider it a while. Perhaps I'll think of a way."

Rema's pouting turned instantly to a broad smile. "I knew I could count on you. Business done, time to play!" He grasped Tavian's arm and dragged him toward the jungle.

Tavian went along willingly. Painful as some of Rema's pleasures were, they were a sort of pleasure, and even if they weren't they'd be worth it for a taste of Mara blood.

.

Near dawn, when Rema finally sank into a sated sleep, Tavian lay healing himself and talking with his voice.

I feel sure there's some way we could turn this to advantage. But at the moment I'm too damned sore to think.

Why do you let him do this to you?

You've asked me a thousand times, and a thousand times I've answered you the same way. Does the repetition comfort you?

Answer again.

It's the cost of blood and alliance. And sometimes I enjoy it a little.

You're like a broken doll. Look at yourself. You're like a corpse in the gutter of a sacked town. A corpse with its legs spread and its skirts over its head.

Tavian felt he had the strength for another push, so he braced himself and sent a surge of power into his left hand. There was a dull crackling sound as broken fingers set themselves. Dizzy and panting, he subsided to wait for them to knit. If my answer's not good enough for you, I don't know what to tell you. It suffices for me.

One day he'll kill you properly. My guardianship of your soul will do you no good if you've no body to rebuild.

It's not as if I'm your only agent.

No answer from the voice.

Why does Astaria want the key? Does she think it will restore her place at Jazaan's side? It has no power over him. Does she imagine Telar needs a consort? She's stupid or mad, or else she's playing a game I can't fathom. I know less about her than I'd like.

Who knows what gods think? The important question is: how will you make certain she doesn't get it?

I could easily hinder Rema while letting him think I'm helping. That's not the trouble. But I just have this feeling I could use Rema to place that key into our hands. This 'boy' of Stiaan's -- what do you know of him?

His name is Kastor Auberlane. He wears the fourth key. The gate is open; he clearly has no idea how to hide it or control it. I agree, this may be our chance to secure that gate.

How did he get it? Is he a child or a man?

A young man. The key was hidden from me, and then it awoke in his hands. He was traveling with Mikah before that one was unmade; if Mikah had it, that would explain why I couldn't find it.

And if Rema gets it, it'll vanish again. But it'll be closed. Unless Astaria opens it. She's no Mara. She could actually use it.

The gates are Telar's compact with the Pantheon. If one of them breaks it...

Why the hell would that be any of our business? Let them fight.

I don't want them to. You don't need to know why.

Tavian snorted. I can't think. One moment. Again he gathered the power of his blood, and healed two broken ribs and some internal lacerations before returning to the conversation. Much better. It really is worth the injuries, you know. Mara blood is stronger than even dragon blood. What I use to heal these hurts is only the tiniest fraction of the power he gives me.

He received a sense of dismissal. The voice didn't care to hear his self-justifications. If Kastor Auberlane was with Mikah and is now with Stiaan, it's likely he's androphilic, like so many of the allies Mara gather to themselves. It's as if they can't percieve anything they can't fuck. Maybe it was Tavian's imagination, but he thought he heard bitterness in that. Perhaps you could seduce him. You can't compete with a Mara in beauty, but you're far better at counterfeiting kindness.

Tavian wrinkled his nose at the patch of stars that flickered through the leaves above. I've a very comfortable situation here, and good reason not to enter Pantheonist territory. It would be foolish of me to move my hand toward anything of Telar's, in fact.

True. Unfortunately, you're the most mobile of my agents.

There's also the matter of my cold blood and generous endowment of sharp pointy teeth, Tavian pointed out dryly. He'd be sure to notice. Anyway, getting Rema to place the keybearer where we want him isn't an issue. The foolish thing won't contest any plan he doesn't understand, for fear of betraying his confusion. As if I might not have noticed yet that he's an idiot. There was fondness in this mockery, as well as some frustration. It had galled him for a very long time that his most powerful ally was also rather stupid. If you've a warm-blooded lap to drop the boy into, then let us do so.

Seduction's not the only approach. But it will be difficult to do anything at all with Stiaan in the way. We must remove him from the picture in any case.

That would certainly seem to be the next step. I'll leave that to Rema. I have an inkling of a plan to give him. If he can't manage it, he's got no hope of taking that key, so the situation won't change.

His voice sent him a sense of satisfaction. It would do for now. Tavian finished healing his hurts, cleaned himself with a small spell, and gathered his clothes. They, too, needed mending, another easy spell. His dignity, however, there was no spell to repair. That would have to heal in its own time.

He knelt beside Rema's sleeping body. So lovely to look at, such tedious company. Idly running his fingers through the Mara's silken hair, he thought about their long association. He remembered how long it took for him to work up the courage to raise his voice, to set rules and try to enforce them. He remembered his angry despair when Rema ignored those rules, and his vicious elation when he managed to take some revenge. "I was nearly a good man before I met you," he murmured. "I almost wish I'd left you where I found you."

Only almost, though. Without Rema, he wouldn't be the father of all vampires, only a jumped-up shaman with an unusual diet. And besides... using a Mara as a pawn made the game about as exciting as it could get.

Tavian bent to inhale the delicious scent of Rema's neck. Bared his fangs and bit. The Mara groaned softly, one hand coming up to rest on Tavian's shoulder, then falling away. Power flowed through Tavian's veins, burning, coiling, ready to leap over the stars if he would only tense and spring. He kept drinking until Rema's heart lurched and stopped.

He was waiting when Rema woke, mid-afternoon on the third day after he'd killed him. Slanting sunlight painted the far wall of his bedroom. Tavian rarely bothered closing the curtains anymore; he knew where it was safe to walk. Rema had been breathing again for an hour, so Tavian had settled himself in a chair beside the bed. Now the Mara opened his inky eyes and blinked at the ceiling for a few moments.

Then he turned an accusing glare on Tavian. "You killed me," he pouted.

"I'm awfully sorry," Tavian said soothingly. "I got carried away. You're just so delicious."

"It's been a long time since you lost control like that."

"Yes. Apparently it still happens. I do apologize."

Rema sat up and looked around himself. "I'm in your bed."

A smile tugged at the corner of Tavian's mouth. "Nothing new there."

"What will the servants think?" Rema said with an answering smirk. "Tell me, have you ever fucked my corpse?"

"No." This was not a new question, but either Rema had forgotten asking it, or he liked to see the distaste that it brought to Tavian's face. "I haven't."

"Are you sure? It must be tempting. Having me helpless, at your mercy, a rag doll for you to do with as you please..."

"No. That's the sort of thing you would do." Tavian changed the subject. "I've been considering your dilemma, and I think I've found a way."

Rema leaned forward, eager. "A way to get me the key?"

"Not directly. You'll have to be patient. And you'll have to trust me."

"How long?" Rema wrinkled his nose at the thought of patience. "If you help me get rid of Stiaan, I can make the boy do anything I want."

"Ah, no. I don't think you can." Tavian smiled apologetically. "I did a little divination while you were out. Your 'boy' is a Kyri prince. He may still have the Hunter's eye on him. Even if he doesn't..."

Rema flung himself off the bed to pace, not visibly weakened by his recent death. "Even if -- what, then? No one likes to see his own finger bones."

"The Kyri romanticize endurance. They make a mythic quality of it. Have you heard of the Rite of the Hundred Knives?"

"It sounds like fun."

"It's how they execute noble criminals. It's considered an honor. If the victim can make it to the hundredth knife without begging for death, his shame is expiated."

Rema waved this off. "Why is it trivia time? Just tell me the plan."

Tavian sighed. "I'm trying to tell you you'll never break a Kyri with physical torture. Not one of the warrior class, anyway. He was probably delighted to be able to impress his gods."

"Mmm... I think he did say something about that," Rema mused. His unaccustomed thoughtful look didn't last long. "So how do I make him give it up?"

"Someone will have to gain his trust. Someone who is not you, Rema," he added as Rema looked about to speak.

"I could disguise --"

"No. There are too many ways you could be exposed." Not the least probable of which is that you'd simply forget to be in disguise one day. "All you need to do is remove Stiaan, and leave the rest to me."

"If I catch Stiaan off guard and hit him with all my power --"

"Oh for pity's sake. Rema, he's wearing so many contingency spells a fly couldn't get through, I guarantee it. No, just listen. I have it all worked out. I'm your friend, aren't I? Have I ever steered you wrong?"