Not all of them would survive the infection, Lucian knew. Once the bite of a werewolf had been universally contagious, but now, centuries after the initial plague, it sometimes killed instead of transforming a mortal into a lycan. Was it that the wolfen strain was growing weaker over the course of generations, he wondered, or was it simply that humans were developing a fatal resistance to the plague? Perhaps someday their bite would bring death more often than it brought immortality.
I’ll never know, he mused, unless I escape this prison soon.
One of the transformed slaves—a Saracen by the look of him—scratched at the ugly red scab upon his shoulder. His sweaty face bore an expression of utter confusion. That fact that he was still alive baffled him. “What… what did they do to us?”
“You will find out soon enough,” Sabas said bitterly. Lucian recalled that the sinewy young lycan had once been a mortal himself, before his entire family had been sold into slavery to pay off a debt owed by a human noble to Lady Amelia. That had been over one hundred and fifty years ago. An ornate letter A was branded on his upper arm.
Raze seemed to have a better understanding of what had been done to his fellows. “They turned us into… like you?”
“Yes,” Lucian confirmed. He lowered his voice to avoid being overheard by any vampire guard. “The time has come. At sunrise I leave this place. And anyone willing to take the risk may follow me.”
One cell over, Xristo and Sabas were busy recruiting other lycans to join their cause. Conspiratorial whispers were greeted with murmured assents. They nodded at Lucian before going back to spreading the word. Lucian hoped he could trust them only to approach those lycans who were receptive to their message. One traitor hoping to curry favor with the vampires, could get them all beheaded in no time. Then again, he reflected, those two probably know their fellow laborers better than I do….
“There is a new life waiting outside these walls, my friend,” he promised Raze. “You can be part of it. One of us. If you wish it.”
Raze pondered Lucian’s offer. “I will fight with you, Lucian… as I am.”
Excellent, Lucian thought. He could ask no more of the redoubtable giant. His gaze swept over the forlorn dungeon, where Sabas and Xristo continued to make the case for freedom to those who might be willing to listen to it. Lycan eyes, some filled with hope, others with anxiety, stared back at him. This is about more than just Sonja and me, Lucian realized. He felt the weight of his entire breed resting on his shoulders. Can I count on my fellow lycans? Dare they place their faith in me?
Everything depended on what happened at sunrise.
Chapter Fourteen
A bell warned of dawn’s approach, but Kosta judged he had time enough to make one last final inspection of the dungeon before retiring to the barracks. He swaggered past the lycans’ dingy cells, cracking his whip to remind them who was in charge. As far as he was concerned, Viktor and the council had been too soft on the lycans in recent years. It was past time to put them back in their place.
He peered through the bars at the latest batch of slaves, whom he looked forward to literally whipping into shape. “New dogs today,” he taunted the former mortals. By nightfall, those who had survived the infection would be ready to be put to work. “Let’s see how you look.”
Too cowed to reply, the newborn lycans merely huddled in their cells. Most of them seemed to be recovering from the werewolf’s bite, although a few were curled up on the floor in obvious distress. They moaned and quivered amidst pools of stinking vomit. A rank odor revealed that many of the infected slaves had soiled themselves. Kosta reminded himself to have the cells flushed out after the initial fever ran its course. The transition from human to lycan was seldom an easy one….
Moving on to Lucian’s cell, Kosta relished the memory of flaying the upstart blacksmith to the bone the night before. Tonight would be even better; preparations were already under way to have Lucian burned at the stake in the middle of the courtyard. A cruel smile came over Kosta’s face as he visualized Lucian screaming in torment as the flames consumed him. The overseer prayed that Lord Viktor would grant him the privilege of personally lighting the bonfire.
I always knew that arrogant mongrel would get what he deserved one day, Kosta thought. Lord Viktor should have known better than to Indulge Lucian the way he did. Fear is the only way to keep these mangy curs in line.
But as he looked more closely at the blacksmith’s cell, he was dismayed to see that the door was slightly ajar. What the devil? His gloved fist tightened on the grip of his whip. A suspicious scowl replaced his smile. He warily approached the door.
“You’re too late,” Sabas taunted him from the adjoining cell. Kosta recognized the youth as one of the lycans who had tried to defend Lucian during the flogging. His equally insolent companion stood by him, openly laughing at the vampire. “He has already gone.”
No! Kosta thought in alarm. Lord Viktor would have his hide if Lucian had indeed escaped. How can this be? It’s not possible!
Throwing caution to the wind, he kicked the door open and rushed into the cell—only to find an angry werewolf waiting for him!
The beast, who could only be Lucian, lunged from the shadows. Kosta’s gray eyes widened in fear. Caught by surprise, he had no time to defend himself. His whip flew from his hand as the werewolf’s slavering jaws ripped the flesh from his skull.
He died screaming.
Cold vampire blood dripped down Lucian’s chin as he gazed down at the headless body of the unwary overseer. No longer wolfen in shape, he stood naked over the corpse. Kosta’s mutilated skull lay on the floor several feet away. His face had been completely stripped from the bone. Bits of skin and cartilage were still stuck between Lucian’s teeth. He spit an ear out onto the floor.
Who has fallen the lowest now? Lucian thought.
Recalling how Kosta’s vicious cat-o’-nine-tails had flayed his hide only yesterday night, Lucian derived no little satisfaction from the vampire’s death. A crimson flood pooled beneath the decapitated remains. Kosta’s many cruelties, against both Lucian and his fellow lycans, had at last been avenged.
If I have my way, he thought, Kosta will not be the last vampire to feel my fangs.
The other lycans gazed at Lucian in awe. Kosta had terrorized some of them for centuries, but he had lasted only moments against Lucian’s unleashed wrath. Flickers of excitement—and apprehension—played across their stunned faces. No doubt many of them feared what the other vampires would to do to them in retribution. Xristo and Sabas, on the other hand, could barely contain their glee, hugging and punching each other in jubilation. Raze nodded grimly in approval.
Lucian held up the key for all to see. His own collar lay discarded upon the floor of his cell. He disdainfully kicked it in the corner. The sight of the key captivated his rapt audience. It was more than just a forged piece of metal; it was freedom itself. Lucian felt his destiny unfolding as he roared triumphantly.
“Are you with me?”
Cheers greeted his fervent exhortation, along with some fretful muttering. Hastily dressing himself, Lucian retrieved Kosta’s keys from his belt and set about freeing the other lycans. Prison doors swung open. He handed off the keys to the dungeon to Xristo, who finished unlocking the cells. Lucian was tempted to remove the other slaves’ collars as well, but feared they lacked the time. He did not want to linger here any longer than necessary. Given the hour, and the dungeon’s thick stone walls, it was unlikely that any vampire had heard Kosta’s dying screams, but Lucian and his allies would not be truly safe until they were well clear of Castle Corvinus.
Haste and surprise are our best weapons, Lucian mused. We must not waste them.
In the end, nearly two dozen lycans agreed to join in the escape, while the rest chose to remain in their cells rather than risk being caught by the vampires. Lucian was disappointed by those who proved faint of heart, but was gratified that none seemed inclined to betray them. Lycan loyalty stretched that far at least
. Unlike Tanis, who had gladly double-crossed his own kind for the sake of political advantage.
To think I ever admired the vampires, Lucian thought ruefully. Aside from Sonja, not one of them was worth the immortal blood that flowed through their veins. They are truly the demons the mortals believe them to be.
Sniffing freedom, he led his motley band of rebels through the castle’s subterranean corridors. Their lack of weapons concerned him. They would have to rely on the rising sun to clear all obstacles from their path, just as Sonja intended.
Sonja.
He could not help wondering just where his love was at this very moment. Alone in her bedchamber, unable to sleep for worry? Knowing her warrior spirit, he could only imagine how it pained her to stand by helplessly while he risked his life thus. He wished there was some way he could communicate to her that their plan was working… at least so far.
Three days, he reminded himself. We will be together in three days….
All was going well, until they rounded a corner and found themselves confronted by two startled Death Dealers. The vampires’ jaws dropped in alarm, flashing yellow fangs. They reached for their swords, but Lucian’s reflexes were faster. He sprang forward and slammed their heads together with all his strength. Steel helmets collided, producing a ringing sound not unlike the sound of a hammer hitting an anvil. The dented metal helms smacked against the floor as the men dropped like marionettes whose strings had been cut. Sabas whistled in appreciation. Snatching a knife from one of the unconscious vampires’ belts, he cheerfully slashed their throats. A crimson fountain sprayed the walls and ceiling before the ill-fated guards breathed their last. He kicked the corpses in the head for good measure.
Well done, Lucian thought, applauding his comrade’s ruthlessness. It’s past time these bloodsuckers learn that even tamed wolves can bite.
Lucian claimed one of the soldier’s swords and handed the other one over to Raze. Xristo tucked a bronze dagger into his belt. Lucian was tempted to strip the knights of their armor but chose not to take the time. He had silenced the soldiers before they had cried out, but had anyone heard the commotion? What if there were other Death Dealers about?
Let us not tempt fate by tarrying too long.
Trampling over the butchered vampires, the lycans abandoned the dungeons. They crept stealthily up a spiral staircase. Lucian’s plan was to reach the hidden tunnel behind his smithy, but first they had to traverse a long covered gallery on the ground floor of the castle. The dense stone walls of the keep were on their left while thick wooden shutters faced the courtyard side of the gallery. An oaken door beckoned at the end of the corridor.
Almost there, Lucian thought. He raised a finger to his lips to remind the other men to keep silent. The eager lycans were trying to move silently but not entirely succeeding. Lucian winced at the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. One of the newer lycans, a Turk named Nasir, coughed hoarsely. His clammy complexion and febrile eyes suggested that he had not yet recovered from the infection. He stumbled against a wooden shutter, which rattled alarmingly. Lucian shot him a withering glance.
By the gods, he prayed, let no one have heard that!
The sky was lightening on the horizon as the Death Dealers patrolled the ramparts. Sandor, the captain of the night guard, glanced impatiently at the nearest stairwell. Where were the lycan sentries meant to relieve them? He had dispatched two men to fetch the daylight guardians several minutes ago, and yet the lycans had not arrived to take their posts upon the walls.
Was something amiss?
His men paced restlessly by the loaded ballistas. They looked to him in confusion, and understandably so. They could see as well as he could that the sun would be rising soon. Unless the lycans assumed their posts quickly, the vampires would be forced to leave the castle walls undefended, a grievous dereliction of duty that had not occurred for more than two hundred years. Surely the lycans realized the terrible risk they were taking.
Something’s wrong, he realized. Very wrong indeed.
A jarring noise came from the courtyard below. Sandor’s eyes zeroed in on the wooden shutters guarding the ground floor of the keep. Were those footsteps he heard in the gallerys?
“Rotate the ballistas!” he ordered. “Now!”
* * *
The lycans were halfway down the gallery when a silver-tipped harpoon burst through the wooden shutters, impaling three of the fugitives. The massive bolt stretched across the narrow corridor like a barricade. Wooden splinters struck several other lycans, who suddenly found themselves trapped behind the harpoon and their skewered comrades. Dying lycans wailed in agony.
The uproar startled Lucian, who spun around to witness the appalling sight. He instantly recognized the bolt as coming from one of the gargantuan siege bows atop the ramparts. The guards are onto us, he realized. They’re turning the ballistas around toward the courtyard!
A second harpoon exploded through the shutters, killing two more lycans and embedding itself in the stone wall on the opposite side of the passageway. A half dozen more bolts instantly followed, as yet more ballistas targeted the gallery. Within seconds, six or seven lycans were impaled upon the lethal harpoons. The sturdy hafts of the bolts, as well as the transfixed bodies of their victims, formed a row of fences, cutting off half of the escapees from Lucian and the others. Panicked lycans tried to squeeze past the obstacles, only to find their way hopelessly blocked. The floor of the corridor was soon slick with blood. A harpoon pierced Nasir’s chest, pinning him to the wall like a butterfly on display. A scarlet river streamed down his front.
His clumsiness had cost him his life.
Then, just when Lucian thought things could not get any worse, a door at the rear of the corridor banged open. A squad of Death Dealers, armed with hand-held crossbows, fired at the trapped lycans from behind. Silver-tipped bolts thudded into the backs of the fugitives, who were cut down like wheat. Frantic lycans clawed hopelessly at the harpoons in front of them, before being struck by the soldiers’ arrows. They slipped and fell amidst the flowing blood. Their collapsed bodies added to the obstacles filling the corridor. More bolts flew past the harpoons at the lycans on the other side of the barrier. Sparks flared as the silver missiles ricocheted off the walls. A stray quarrel whistled past Lucian’s ear. He ducked to avoid a second shaft.
Amidst the pandemonium, Raze rushed back to rescue their trapped comrades. “Stay strong!” he exhorted them. “I am coming!” Lucian was impressed by the man’s courage and loyalty but refused to let him throw away his life in a hopeless cause. He tugged on Raze’s shoulder. A silver bolt barely missed the slave’s bald dome. A desperate lycan, whom Lucian recognized as one of the other slaves from the caravan, reached through the harpoon shafts.
“Help me!” the man pleaded. “Don’t leave me here!”
Raze wavered, uncertain where his duty lay.
“There is nothing you can do!” Lucian shouted over the screams of the dying. He physically dragged Raze away from the barricades, while shouting back at the comrades they were forced to abandon. “My brothers, I will be back for you!”
Reaching the exit at the far end of the gallery, Xristo yanked open the doors and beckoned frantically for Lucian and the others to join them. Sabas snatched a flying arrow from the air and hurled it angrily to the floor. Glancing around quickly, Lucian saw that maybe ten additional lycans had survived the massacre. “Up the stairs!” he commanded. Clearly there was no way they could cross the courtyard without being cut down by the archers upon the ramparts. A stairway ahead offered the only way out. “Move!”
He glanced back over his shoulder at the grisly array of impaled lycans filling the gallery. In death, the skewered casualties served as a grisly shield between the surviving lycans and the Death Dealers, but this temporary benefit came at a terrible cost. Lucian felt a stab of guilt for leading these poor slaves to their doom; he promised their souls that their awful sacrifice would not be in vain.
Th
e vampires will pay for this, he vowed. I swear it on my life!
He turned and fled the gallery.
Viktor was meditating in the crypt when a Death Dealer barged in unannounced. Snarling at the interruption, the Elder rose angrily from his throne. How dare this lowly foot soldier disturb his privacy?
“Milord!” the guard blurted, before Viktor could discipline him for his effrontery. “Lucian is escaping!”
A rooster crowed in the courtyard. The warning bell sounded again. Lucian sensed the sun rising as he and the other fugitives raced down a corridor on the second floor of the keep, which was mostly given over to storerooms and larders. A shuttered window called out to him from the end of the hall. Daylight leaked through the wooden slats. A tight smile crossed his face. Freedom was so close he could taste it.
We’re going to make it….
Then a pair of Death Dealers rushed from a stairwell, barring their way. “Halt, dogs!” they ordered. “Surrender your weapons!”
Lucian didn’t even slow down. Without breaking his stride, he hit the soldiers like a battering ram, driving them backward through the shuttered window. Timber splintered with the impact of the three men’s bodies as they tumbled into the open air outside. The dawn’s rosy glow hurt Lucian’s eyes, but that was nothing compared to the devastating effect the unfiltered sunlight had upon the falling vampires. Their pale flesh burst into flames. Smoke gushed from the creases of their armor. The soldiers wailed like fallen angels as they were cremated inside their metal suits. They fell like comets toward the rocky slopes below.