Published by Phaze Books
Also by Brenna Lyons
Black Sail
Conquest
Mama’s Tales
The Last of Fion’s Daughters
The Color of Love
We Shall Live Again
Phaze in Verse
“The Fire God’s Woman”
from Coming Together: Under Fire
Last Chance for Love
Fates Magic
Rites of Mating
In Her Ladyship’s Service
Matchmaker’s Misery
Animal Instincts
Night Warriors
Will of the Stone
Bearing
Armen
This is an explicit and erotic novel
intended for the enjoyment
of adult readers. Please keep
out of the hands of children.
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Crossbearer Turned
Veriel’s Tales, Book One
BRENNA LYONS
Veriel’s Tales: Crossbearer Turned copyright 2004-5, 2009 by Brenna Lyons
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Phaze Production
Phaze Books
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Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222
Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.
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Cover art © 2009 Kendra Egert
Edited by Kathryn Lively
eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-60659-155-0
First Phaze Edition – August, 2009
Printed in the United States of America
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Dedicated to…
My brother and sisters, for teaching me that there is more than one side to any story.
John Malkovich’s performance of Jekyll and Hyde in Mary Rielly, for confirming my belief that a man can be both villain and hero, driven to madness and torn to be what he can never be in either state.
Hollie…I told you Jörg was coming back!
My inability to believe that anyone can be all bad—or all good, even the Warriors.
Glossary of Warrior Terms
Beast- Beasts are what humans erroneously refer to as vampires. The stories humans tell are obviously not correct, but you can’t expect a human to get everything right.
Blutjagd- The “blood hunt.” Warriors crave battle with the beasts, as the beasts crave blood. Warriors are tied to beasts in that they sense many of the beasts’ special powers. A Warrior can feel the use of coercion, feeding, and other controls of humans. They also feel other Warriors engaged in Blutjagd, the death of beasts and Warriors in their range, and the presence of nearby beasts that are not fully ghosted. Rigorous battle training will quell the Blutjagd for short periods of time.
Elder- One of the original beasts, the Stone stealers who were damned for their crimes against the Stone and the Warriors. The elders are gifted with powers turned beasts are not, including the ability to reproduce with a Blutjagdfrau, the ability to turn other beasts, and the inability to be killed by anyone but a Warrior.
Endspiel- The point in printing when a Warrior must either seal printing or go insane. A Warrior who feels printing may not progress should break printing long before this point. Note that they are rarely smart enough to do so.
Fluch- The Warrior’s curse, passed from father to son or daughter. The Fluch may be removed from a daughter but never a son. If the Fluch is not removed in the Zeremonie der Freiheit by the time the menses begin or the Zeremonie des Schutzes is performed before freeing, the daughter is cursed to become Blutjagdfrau, a female Warrior. Because elders target Blutjagdfrau as mates, Warrior fathers will go to any lengths to free a daughter not marked by the Stone.
Ghosting- A talent that both beasts and Cursed Warriors learn to harness. Ghosting can hide the physical form of Cursed Warriors or beasts and all they hold or carry from each other and humans. In a lesser strength, it can “blur” the image of the user so that humans do not note the passage in particular but still see a person there, which avoids accidental collisions. Even a ghosted beast cannot hide uses of power that a Warrior can track. Warriors sometimes ghost in tandem to remain visible to each other but not other Warriors or beasts.
Krankheit- The “sealing sickness.” In the final stage of the transformation between human and Cursed Warrior, at or about the sixteenth birthday in males and a year after the start of menses in females, the sickness strikes. The young Warrior will suffer nausea, vomiting, a high fever, disorientation, dizziness and may become incoherent. It is usually the only time in a Warrior’s life that he or she becomes ill, save morning sickness in a Blutjagdfrau.
Printing- Like imprinting, a Warrior becomes tied to his mate for life. He cannot choose another if she’s lost, cannot be unfaithful while she lives, and cannot ever divorce or otherwise dissolve the union. A printed Warrior is the most stable of men, unless his mate or children are endangered or lost. Then he will suffer the printing madness and may have to be killed by his house. Likewise, a Warrior who breaks printing, even early printing, will suffer for it. A Warrior who breaks printing too close to Endspiel will face the madness.
Veriel- The Mad Elder. The Destroyer of Lives. The Mad Deceiver, who led the traitors and freed the elders from the Stone. The most hated and hunted of all the beasts. Fixated on one woman, he would destroy the world to own her. Or... At least, that’s what the stories say of him.
Warriors- Also called Cursed Warriors, Krieger der Nacht, Soldat der Nacht, or Sons of the Stone. The Warriors were an ancient race of protectors who spawned the beasts and now are driven to hunt their former brothers to extinction.
Table of Contents
Excerpts from The Kaufmann Histories
Excerpt from The First Book of Texts
Kreuzträger Gedreht
The major players of the houses of the first cursed…
House Schwertträger (Swordbearer, later known as Armen)—
Gawen Lord Schwertträger, Stone lord, and his chosen mate Bavin
Regana, the chosen of Pauwel Lord Kreuzträger
Abbo and Marcwi, parents of Gawen and Regana
House Kreuzträger (Crossbearer, later known as Cross)—
Pauwel Lord Kreuzträger and his chosen mate Regana
Kethe, the chosen of Thorald, village leader
Andris, son of Pauwel and Regana and his chosen mate Berna
House Jäger (Hunter)—
Ditrich Lord Jäger and his chosen mate Anabilia
House Schmied (Smith)—
Cunczel Lord Schmied and his chosen mate Lela
Sibold of Schmied, master trainer to the first cursed and Stone lord
House Landwirt (Farmer)—
Gerhardus (known as Ger) Lord Landwirt and his chosen mate Ingela
Berna, daughter of Ger and Ingela and chosen of Andris Lord Crossbearer
House Maher—
Wilhelmus (known as Wil) Lord Maher and his chosen mate Evfemia
Riberta of Maher
House Kaufmann—
Olbrecht Lord Kaufmann and his chosen mate Lenne
The beast elders—
Jörg, the beast Veriel
Tilbrand, the beast Resten
Dado, the beast Lorian
Bertolf, the beast Draden
Redulf, the beast Carstol
Geldric, the beast Cerran
Major players in the village—
Eberhard, the leader at the births of the first cursed and elders
Marclef, the leader at the fall of the elders
Thorald, the leader after Marclef
Emecin, midwife and mother of Landric, the healer
Prologue
484 AD
Gawen marched over the uneven ground. The trees were thick but thinning as he neared the planting fields and home. His kill was slung over his shoulder. It was only a small deer, hardly larger than a wolf, but it would feed his family well. He hefted it as if it weighed not a thing. At nine, he was already the size of many of the smaller men in the village, and the deer was not a burden to him at all.
In a land full of tall, broad men with eyes as fair as a summer sky and hair the color of grain and fire and clouds, he was one of the marked. The Stone-Chosen were all dark haired—black except for the brown of Jörg’s—and had deep brown or black eyes—except for the silver-gray of Jörg’s and Wil’s dark blue ones. Larger even than the largest of the local men in adulthood, the Stone-Chosen were giants even amongst the giants.
He scowled at the birthmark on his wrist. The blood mark given him by the Stone was the mark of Syth, the mark of the chosen master trainer and Stone lord. He was to be Sibold’s replacement when the time came.
Most days, being chosen was simply what Gawen was. He no longer strutted about as if it made him important as he had when he was five and he had been given the duty of watching out for his younger brothers when they were brought to Sibold to play at battle with wooden weapons and hear the stories of the ancients that would define their places as protectors to the village.
Their formal training would not begin for many years—at fifteen. Gawen would be fully trained by the time the next, that insolent pup Tilbrand, was ready to begin his training. He secretly hoped Sibold would take on Tilbrand personally and knock the cocky attitude out of him quickly while Gawen worked with Wil. He would be a man of twenty-four by the time Jörg began his training.
Gawen knew Sibold and Eberhard, the village leader, were still searching for more of his brothers. The thought chilled him. They already numbered thirteen, and at times, controlling them was like reasoning with wolf pups.
He sighed at the thought that Ditrich would join the play in half a year.
Jörg was still a babe and would not join them for almost three years. When he did, it would be up to Gawen to shield him. Though Jörg had the blood mark of Reg—the intensity of the base of the fire, as proof of his status, prominent on the front of his shoulder, his features were different enough to cause dissention. With his rich brown hair and silver eyes, the difference had been noted immediately. Tilbrand had already been censured for wondering aloud if the difference in appearance denoted a weakness in the boy.
Sibold had high hopes for Jörg. He’d confided in Gawen that the Stone had named their youngest brother the greatest Warrior, their champion. Though Gawen was slated to lead, he would not be the strongest. He smiled at the thought that Jörg would be hard pressed to prove his place with twelve older brothers wrestling to knock him from his perch.
Strangely enough, Pauwel stood out as the shining star with his blood mark of Ori—the sun, even at only four years of age. If anyone would be a challenge to Jörg, it would be Pauwel, and Gawen was not sure that Jörg could live up to that challenge.
He furrowed his brow in concern. Being the most powerful Warrior made Jörg the weakest in other areas. He would be most unable to control his Blutjagd, most affected by printing, and most susceptible to being lost to madness. But, it was still a matter of many years before they had to worry about any of that. Still, the fact that Jörg’s family’s lands bordered his own was lucky. Sibold had given Gawen the duty of protecting their tiny, fatherless treasure as much as the fates permitted.
Gawen waved to a man from the village that was working cutting firewood; he sighed as the man bowed his head respectfully, fearfully. It had been millennia since more than two or three had been chosen by the Stone at once and more than a century since there had been more than one. The villagers were panicked and suspicious to have so many chosen.
Gawen hated the fear in their eyes. Even if there was a war coming, and by all reports it seemed there was, it was not the fault of the Warriors. Their duty was to fight to their deaths to protect all within the village. They were not the most pressing threat.
The foederati was unsettled. The peace was tenuous at best. It had been ten years since Sidonius had been exiled after his battle with Elric of the Goths.
Childric had continued the expansion of his father, Merovech of Chlogio, Chief of the Salian Franks, alternately allying himself with Rome and pushing the borders back to the Somme River. Three years in power, Childric’s son, a man named Clovis, was attempting to continue the process of subduing friends and foes alike. His borders stretched out from the Pyrenees to the Rhine. Now, word was in the wind that Clovis and Ragnachar, his kinsman, would seek to take Syagrius at Soissons soon.
All these things were told him by Sibold, most of it knowledge imparted to the master trainer by the Stone. Gawen learned it all faithfully, knowing that the fight would eventually come to their village. Until then, it was a mass of politics and battles that had little bearing on this place hidden away from such things.
Gawen’s people no longer bothered much with distinctions. In this region, only the tribe was of importance, only the village. Romans, Gauls, Christians, or Barbarians were of no importance here. Even the fact that Pauwel, the grandson of a Christian emissary who intermarried and produced an heir that now served the Stone of his grandmother’s gods was hardly reason to wonder in a place like this.
Buried deep in mountains rich in iron and fertile for farming, the village prospered under the protection of the Stone. The Stone chose its people well, and the bargain had been sealed in blood and power. Every generation, a boy was born of a different family, chosen by the Stone to be its lord and confidant. On occasion, two were born...or three, based on the Stone’s perception of the coming need of the village.
The Stone lord was always apparent by the mark of Syth. There were twenty symbols in the ancient language, and the Stone marked its choice of any of the aspects on its chosen—except Zel, signifying an end, Jee for Justice, or Ani—the sign of the birth mother of beast killers. Those were signs of war and death coming.
Tilbrand had been born with the sign of Wul—the cunning and feared wolf. It was a rare symbol, but it seemed appropriate for Tilbrand. Wilhelmus, Wil, carried the sign of Len—the strength of the mountain, and he was already a mountain of a young Warrior. Olbrecht had been born as Baroo—thunder, and Dado was Pol—the strength and speed of the horse. Cunczel was Vin—the untamable wind, Bertolf was Nul—the darkest night and stealth personified, and Redulf was Iol—immovable ice. Ditrich was Dobler—the twin peace bringer and diplomat, while Geldric was Fih—war personified and Dobler’s opposite number. Gerhardus, Ger, was Hir—the cool depth of the wood.
For millennia, the Stone had protected the village, but many felt the coming situation was hopeless. Only once before in recorded history had there been so many chosen. Gawen knew that the villagers weren’t sure whether to fear another beast war or an enemy so dire as to require thirteen Warriors more.
Sibold’s magic should be sufficient to prevent beasts, but with the political situation, Gawen wasn’t sure even the entire seventeen allowed blood marks would suffice. In the end, Zel and Jee might be required, and the village might be lost. In that case, Gawen would take the Stone away as was his duty, followed by whatever brothers remained, to find a new home.
Gawen speeded his step as his home came into view. For some reason, he was suddenly glad to be there. He wanted to run his hands over the baby growing inside his mother Marcwi, a brother or sister in blood that he had almost given up hope of ever having.
His breath caught, and he ranged his gaze over the group of people in the main room, his hand tightening on the edge of the rough door. His father, Abbo, wouldn’t meet his eyes. Eberhard and Sibold stared at Gawen in a calculated way that made him uneasy, and he retraced his steps over the past few days to assure himself that he could not be in danger of censure for some misdeed.
When his gaze fell on Emecin, the young midwife who assisted Adalind as she learned her craft, peeking around Sibold’s shoulder and looking grim, his blood ran cold. There was a problem with the baby, he guessed. His hopes of being a true brother seemed to crumble within him as he recognized the sound of weeping from his mother’s bedchamber. The fates could not be so cruel! It was the only thing Gawen wished for, and they could not take it from him this way after all the months of hoping and watching the baby grow in Marcwi’s belly.
Sibold smiled warmly. “Do not be concerned, Gawen. Come meet your sister.” He turned and scooped a baby from Emecin’s hands to show her to her brother.
Gawen smiled widely and dropped his kill on the table as he made his way to her.
She met his eyes evenly and seemed to assess him before yawning. She was newly born, still covered in a slick of their mother’s blood and a milky substance he had seen on other new babies. Her eyes widened, as he stroked her cheek and hair with one huge finger. Her eyes were as dark as the night sky beneath a sea of black hair that was soft as down.
“She looks like me, Father,” he exclaimed excitedly.
Abbo winced, then cast a sad look at his son, but Gawen gave it hardly a thought. Surely, it was an aberration of some sort. The Stone didn’t choose female Warriors.
“Yes,” his father agreed quietly. “Yes, she does, Gawen.”
Sibold nodded his head. “You are her personal protector, Gawen. No matter what happens, it is your duty to keep her always safe.”
Gawen furrowed his brow. “Of course. She is mine, a woman of my house,” he replied seriously. A Warrior’s duty to his house, especially women of his house, was taught early, before any other consideration.
“More than that, Gawen. The Stone demands this duty of you. Love and protect her as the Stone demands—with your life, if necessary.”
He nodded soberly, unable to conceive of a duty greater than that to any woman of his house but accepting that it must be so if Sibold said it was. He put out his hands to accept her into his care, and Sibold placed his sister in his arms gingerly. Gawen laughed in glee, as she grasped his finger while he tickled her cheek.
“What would you name her, Gawen?” Sibold asked quietly.
Gawen looked at him in shock and dismay. “My mother?”
“She lives, though she is very weak. The child is yours, Gawen. What would you name her?”
He looked to his father, but Abbo shook his head and left, seemingly saddened. The door closed behind him with a chilling finality. Gawen felt his heart begin to pound. They really meant to give him this child as his own responsibility. They meant for Gawen to raise her as if she were his own. “Gana,” he decided.
“Regana,” Sibold corrected him. “Her name is Regana. The Stone approves of her name.”
Gawen nodded quietly. “Regana.” He smiled as she brushed her mouth over his fingertip, rooting for food, his concerns momentarily forgotten. “You hear that, little one? You are mine. You have to obey me,” he ordered her.
“I never said that,” Sibold interrupted him. “In fact, I wouldn’t expect it of her.”
* * * *
492 AD
“Tilbrand, hold,” Gawen thundered. He bolted across the open area in the training building, his younger cursed brothers scattering in his wake. Gawen hit Tilbrand with a straight-arm to the chest, sending him crashing to the ground while he swept the troublesome, curly-headed child between them onto his shoulder.
Jörg took one look at Gawen’s scowl and turned from the encounter, running for the safety of the group by the wall.
Gawen nodded at his retreating back. He tightened his grip on Regana as she tried to kick her way down. “Stop it,” he grumbled at her.
Tilbrand found his feet again.
“Disarm,” he ordered the unruly boy.
Tilbrand glared at him, but he sheathed his weapon. “I only wanted to teach them a lesson, Gawen,” he fumed. “You let her run wild. She shouldn’t even be here.”
“You shouldn’t be antagonizing the little ones,” he countered. “If you left them to themselves,” he smiled a crooked smile, “they wouldn’t be forced to prove who is better trained. At least they understand teamwork.”
Tilbrand darkened in anger. “This is the Warriors’ training area, not a play area for little girls who need leading strings,” he shot back. “You should have Eberhard’s daughter nurse for you.”
Regana fought her brother’s grip, trying to exact her own retaliation for that remark.
Gawen crushed her to his shoulder with one huge hand. “Regana is my responsibility, no one else’s. She will stay here under my care.”
“Yes, she will,” Sibold assured them, calmly walking to them, a disapproving look etched on his ancient face.
Gawen sighed as Regana stilled, then shrank closer to him. At least she had the common sense to be afraid of the master trainer.
He raised an eyebrow at Gawen. “Take Regana outside to wait for me,” he instructed.
“Yes, Sibold.” Gawen ground his teeth at Tilbrand’s smirk; but from the indulgent look Sibold tossed after the tiny girl, he guessed whose side the master trainer would ultimately take—as usual.
In the tree line, he set Regana on her bottom. “Stay there,” Gawen ordered as he sat beside her.
She raised her chin a notch, but she sat fairly still, a miracle in the making! Gawen took in the dirty face, red cheek, and the mussed hair critically before sighing and retying the thong that held her hair back. Regana fidgeted and shot him an annoyed look that warned of her intent to flee such ministrations, but she let him smooth her hair.
She looked to the doors of the training area nervously. “Is Tilbrand in trouble?”