“Our moment has come, then,” he declared, baring his fangs in anticipation of the decisive battle ahead. “You wanted Lucian crushed, Nicolae? Very well, let us spare no expense or effort to do so.” He drew his mighty broadsword from its scabbard and raised it before him like a scepter. “This sorry state of affairs has dragged on long enough. We will answer this outrage with an overwhelming show of force—the only language these mongrels understand!”
Chapter Twenty
CARPATHIAN MOUNTAINS
Lucian felt a storm coming on. Dark clouds rolled across the night sky, obscuring the stars, while the very air seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of a violent disturbance in the atmosphere. He watched the sky with a worried expression, acutely aware that it was the first night of the new moon, when all lycans were at their weakest. If I were Viktor, he brooded darkly, now is when I would attack.
He had been anticipating a vampiric assault for days now, ever since he’d sent Zoltan’s skull back to the castle in pieces. Viktor would surely attempt to retake the mines, but when?
Lucian stood atop the shingled roof of the soldier’s barracks, which his own followers had appropriated for their use. The displaced miners, whom Lucian had conscripted to re-excavate the collapsed mine shafts, had been forced to sleep outside upon the ground or else within the silver-laden depths of the mine itself, where the other lycans still refused to venture.
From his perch atop the barracks, Lucian surveyed the camp’s newly erected defenses. A wooden palisade, stretching across the width of the gorge, blocked the sandy road leading up to the mine. Additional timbers had been driven into the ground along the sides of the gorge, their sharpened tips tilted upward at the rocky slopes leading to the forest above. In theory, the pointed stakes would impale anyone who attempted to charge down the hill as he and his lycan warriors had recently done.
Lucian drew comfort from the mine’s imposing fortifications. At least we’re ready for Viktor and his troops.
I hope.
“Lucian!” a lookout posted on the palisade called out to him. The lycan sentry waved his torch to catch his leader’s attention. “Something’s happening on the road!”
I knew it! Lucian thought, cursing beneath his breath. Viktor was not going to let this moonless night go to waste.
He leaped from the slate rooftop to a narrow walk running just below the top of the palisade. The sentry, whose name was Odon, hurried to meet him. A dented kettle helmet, looted from one of the mine’s former guards, protected the lycan’s skull. “Look!” he said, pointing south. “There’s something moving up ahead.”
“Where?” Lucian asked anxiously. He peered out over the pointed tips of the fence, his eyes probing the darkened road descending from the gorge. The dark clouds overhead made the night even blacker than usual, and at first, he could see nothing; slowly, however, he began to discern vague shapes rolling up the road toward them. He glimpsed the outline of a large wooden structure, some eight hundred feet down the road. He heard the creaks and groans of heavy machinery.
The truth hit him with the force of, well, a catapult.
“Watch out!” he cried, even as the first missile came arcing through the sky at them. A whistling noise filled the air as a large chunk of solid rock hurtled toward the palisade.
Lucian leaped to the ground in time, but Odon was not so fortunate. The speeding rock slammed into the upright timbers beneath him. Stripped pine trunks shattered, and Odon went flying from the walkway, crashing down onto the stony ground amid an explosion of wooden debris.
More boulders followed, quickly reducing the palisade to splinters. A few of the missiles overshot the demolished fortifications, raining down on the mining camp itself. Missiles smashed through the slate roof of the barracks, eliciting screams of shock and injury from the lycans housed within. Lucian watched in horror as a load of flaming coals crashed down from the sky. A red-hot lump struck a fleeing lycan in the back, knocking him to the ground. Flames leaped up from his hair and clothing.
“To arms!” Lucian shouted, trying to rally his followers, but all was pandemonium. Panicked lycans ran about in confusion, seeking shelter from the terror that fell from the sky. “Gather ’round me!” he cried, drawing a double-edged sword from his belt. “We must make ready to defend ourselves!”
At that moment, the storm broke, adding to the chaos. Lightning streaked across the sky, followed almost immediately by a booming crack of thunder. Rain poured from the sky, dousing the blazing coals and soaking everything else. A howling wind blew against Lucian, carrying away his urgent commands.
Then a new noise joined the clamor. It sounded at first like thunder—before growing loud enough to be recognized as the sound of pounding hooves, racing up the gorge toward the camp.
No! Lucian thought. Not now, not like this!
A legion of mounted Death Dealers came charging out of the night. Silver glinted on the hooves and armor of the galloping warhorses, as well as on the spikes jutting from the horses’ gleaming steel headpieces. Undead cavalrymen, wearing crimson surcoats over their mail and leather armor, held their swords and spears aloft as their fearsome mounts easily hurdled the splintered remains of the palisade before chasing after the terrified lycans.
“Death to the lycan scum!”
The hateful cry went up from the Death Dealers as they hacked and stabbed at the disorganized lycans, trampling the bleeding bodies under the argent hooves of their armored destriers. Olga, cradling baby Ferenz in her arms, tried and failed to outrace a mounted vampire who pursued her relentlessly past the shattered barracks. Leaning from his saddle, the Death Dealer caught her in the back of the head with a silver-studded mace, and her brains burst from her shattered skull. Her long red hair turned a brighter shade of crimson.
Grief and guilt stabbed Lucian’s heart as he saw the vampire’s armored steed ride roughshod over Olga’s fallen body, silencing the heart-rending cries of little Ferenz. She trusted me, and I failed her, Lucian thought in despair. If there was indeed an afterlife for those of their breed, he prayed that mother and child were now reunited somewhere far beyond the cruel inequities of this world.
But not every lycan fled before the enemy’s advance; a few fought back furiously. Crossbows, captured from the mine’s previous defenders, fired at the vampires and their steeds, while unarmed lycans pounced at the Death Dealers, sometimes managing to unseat the mounted warriors. Alas, these valiant defenders were all too soon cut down by the flashing swords of Viktor’s troops.
The rout reminded Lucian of countless other raids against unwary lycans, many of which he had participated in himself, but this time he was on the receiving end of the Death Dealers’ lethal attentions. We were not ready, he realized. I launched my campaign too soon.
“There you are, you bastard!” a familiar voice shouted at Lucian. It was Ulrik, the Death Dealer he’d wounded in Sonja’s bedchamber the night they were exposed. The furious vampire turned his horse and galloped toward Lucian, raising his sword above his head. “Your head is mine!”
But Lucian ducked beneath the swinging blade, then sprang onto the horse’s back behind Ulrik. He clamped his legs onto the destrier’s flanks and grabbed the vampire’s shoulder. Ironically, the warrior’s crimson surcoat protected Lucian’s palm from the silver chain mail beneath the heavy fabric. Before Ulrik could react, Lucian drew his sword across the Death Dealer’s throat, slicing it through. Cold vampire blood sprayed onto the gleaming steel crinet protecting the horse’s upper neck and mane. Ulrik clutched at his throat, but blood continued to spurt through the fingers of his metal gauntlet.
My head was not for you to claim, Lucian thought triumphantly as he shoved the dying vampire off his saddle into the mud below. Alarmed, Ulrik’s steed reared up onto its hind legs, throwing Lucian free of his precarious perch on the animal’s back.
He hit the ground hard, only a few paces away from where Ulrik lay, gasping out his last breaths. The agitated warhorse spun about and tried
to trample Lucian with its silver-shod hooves, as though to avenge its fallen rider.
Lucian rolled away from the crashing hooves. Jumping to his feet, he let out a bloodcurdling roar and jabbed at the horse’s exposed flesh with the point of his sword. The injuries he inflicted were minor but proved sufficient to chase the riderless warhorse away.
He had slain yet another vampire, but the battle was far from over. “Stand fast!” he urged the pack, brandishing his bloody sword, but to no avail; without the moon to embolden them, the routed lycans stampeded past him, almost carrying him along in their headlong flight. He felt like a salmon fighting its way upstream.
Fear-crazed lycans, desperate to escape the vampire cavalry, squeezed past the sharpened stakes facing the sides of the gorge, scrambling up the rocky slopes despite the torrents of rain streaming down the hillside. Unable to gain purchase on the slippery incline, many of the distraught men and women slid back down the hill onto the waiting stakes. The agonized screams of impaled lycans added to the deafening clamor.
A tremendous burst of lightning illuminated the sky, briefly turning night into day, and Lucian spotted Viktor astride his coal-black charger. The scalloped batwings on his helmet were silhouetted against the flashing clouds as the Elder withdrew his gigantic broadsword from the back of a skewered lycan. His cold blue eyes met Lucian’s across the field of battle.
“Defiler!” he shouted over the thunder.
“Murderer!” Lucian accused him back.
Digging his spurs into Hades’ flanks, Viktor barreled down on Lucian. The silver horn on the horse’s brow aimed straight for the lycan’s chest, while the Elder’s gore-stained sword was raised and ready. Lucian hesitated, uncertain whether he could outrun the charging warhorse. He raised his own sword, eager to avenge Sonja despite the odds against him.
The golden sunbeam fell directly on Sonja… her pale face blackened and crumbled…
Before he could engage her murderous father in battle, however, a steel-tipped arrow came whizzing out of nowhere to strike Viktor in the side, knocking the Elder from his saddle. Caught by surprise, Lucian turned to see Josef standing several yards away, his great yew bow in hand.
“Are you mad?” the grizzled soldier exclaimed. He reached back to draw another arrow from his quiver. “That bastard would have run you down!”
He opened his mouth to chastise Lucian further, only to stiffen in shock as the silver horn of another warhorse stabbed him from behind, the point of the horn erupting from his chest. Blood gushed from Josef’s mouth. His bow slipped from his fingers, landing in the mud at his feet. The armored destrier reared upward, flinging the lycan’s body into the air.
Lucian was shocked by the speed and suddenness of his lieutenants demise. To think that the doughty soldier had survived the Crusades, only to perish so abruptly.
Farewell, my friend. Your sacrifice shall not be in vain.
Turning back toward Viktor, Lucian saw the undead overlord rising to his feet amid the turmoil of the massacre. Mud covered the Elder’s crimson surcoat, concealing the rampant dragon embroidered thereon. Sword in hand, Viktor glared at Lucian through the jumble of fleeing and fighting figures. “I am coming for you, lycan!” he promised. “My daughter’s honor will be avenged!”
You, avenge Sonja? The father who ordered her execution? The Elder’s misplaced wrath infuriated Lucian. If not for you, Sonja and I could have lived in happiness for all eternity, with our child at our side!
Every primitive instinct in his body urged him to stay and fight, to exact justice for his martyred love, yet reason counseled otherwise. He remembered Viktor’s overpowering strength from their confrontation in Sonja’s bedchamber; in single combat, he wouldn’t stand a chance against the powerful Elder.
His instinct for survival won out.
Lucian turned and ran.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, making Kraven thankful that he had not accompanied Viktor and the other Death Dealers on tonight’s assault on the captured silver mines. Immortality, as far as he was concerned, was too short to spend wet and shivering in the cold, slogging through the mud in heavy armor, just for the chance to get yourself killed by some upstart lycan. He was quite content to stay snugly indoors tonight, watching over the castle in Viktor’s absence.
The same could not be said for Soren, who clearly resented being left behind once again. The bearded overseer sat glumly at a trencher table in the great hall, nursing his grievances as he stared sullenly in the direction of the far-off storm. His silver whips lay idle on the table.
Kraven, who had been raised on palace intrigues in the court of King Henry I, saw an opportunity A disgruntled subject can be a useful pawn, he observed.
“Come, let us share a drink,” he said heartily, sitting down opposite Soren. He placed a flagon of mulled blood and a pair of leather tankards on the table between them. “What’s the point of living forever if we don’t enjoy the finer things in life?”
Like power, he thought.
Soren grunted but poured himself a tankard of blood. His scowling face remained as morose as before. Clearly, it was going to take more than just a shared drink to get the Irish vampire talking.
“I have been thinking,” Kraven began, glancing around to confirm that no one else was listening. He and Soren appeared to have the hall to themselves for the moment. “There is a distinct drawback to serving the Elders. Do you know what that is?”
“Their fucking ingratitude?” Soren muttered.
Kraven silently congratulated himself on drawing a response out of the taciturn overseer. “No, it’s that, as immortals, they need never surrender their power to those who come after them. No matter how far you or I may rise—or fall—in their esteem, they shall always be there, retaining ultimate power for themselves.”
Indeed, he reflected, what use is ambition when the throne itself remains forever out of reach? It had become very clear to him over the past few months that, no matter how obsequiously he catered to Viktor, the tyrannical Elder was always going to treat him as nothing more than a vassal. I did not become a Death Dealer, risking mortal injury for the sake of social advancement, just to spend eternity sniffing at the very threshold of absolute power and luxury.
“You spoke of ingratitude?” he prompted.
“Aye,” Soren grumbled. “I have served the coven faithfully for nearly four centuries, keeping the lycan rabble in their place, and yet I am cast down—and all because some wanton trollop lets a lycan get into her skirts.” He took a swig from his tankard, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Is it my fault that the Elder’s daughter was a whore?”
“Certainly not,” Kraven agreed readily. “Anyone can see that you have been sorely ill used.” He leaned forward, his voice acquiring a conspiratorial tone. “Mayhap we can help each other improve our respective lots.”
Soren lifted his baleful gaze from his drink. He regarded Kraven with cautious interest. “How so?”
“Who can say?” Kraven said with a shrug. “I have no firm plan as yet, but I daresay a propitious opportunity will arise in time. After all, we’re just as immortal as the Elders are.” He smiled slyly. “What’s more, if we’re smart and patient enough, we might even outlive them.”
Raising their tankards, the two vampires toasted their alliance.
Viktor’s threats pursued Lucian across the blood-drenched mining camp. “Run for your life, you cowardly animal!” the Elder railed, hacking and slashing at every ill-starred lycan who came between him and his quarry. “There is no escape for you!”
The driving rain pelted Lucian’s face as he bolted for freedom. Forgive me, Sonja, he entreated her spirit, ashamed that he lacked the brute strength to avenge his bride’s murder. If only there were some arcane elixir that would give me the might to stand against an Elder, he yearned, but such potions are merely the stuff of legend.
He raced for the entrance to the mine. At his order, the captured miners had re-excavated the shaft, converting an old drainage
tunnel into an emergency escape route that was perhaps his only hope of surviving this hellish night. Seeing the entrance ahead of him, he darted into the inky blackness of the mine. The screams of dying lycans followed him.
Rainwater ran down the inclined tunnel, turning the floor of the shaft into a shallow river. Maintaining his balance was difficult; Lucian slipped on the treacherous rock and reached out to steady himself. His palm sizzled as it came into contact with a vein of silver ore, and he yanked his hand back, cursing at the pain. He stumbled on down the tunnel.
Without a torch or lantern, he was forced to navigate the Stygian darkness of the mine by memory. Several tons of solid limestone muffled the thunder booming outside, which grew fainter the deeper he descended beneath the earth. Mercifully, the wails of his butchered followers faded as well. The rush of water cascading past his ankles drowned out whatever bootsteps might be following in his wake, yet he knew that Viktor could not be far behind. In his own twisted fashion, Lucian acknowledged, the Elder is no less intent on avenging Sonja’s death than I.
At last, he came to an intersection, where a narrow side tunnel diverged from the main shaft. This was the escape passage he had been looking for, which led to a separate exit on the eastern face of the mountain. Lucian took a sharp right turn at the crossing, clambering over a pile of waste rock at the opening of the old drainage tunnel.
He hurried faster down the slender shaft, no longer worried about losing his way in the dark. His boots sliced through the silty water flowing past his ankles. Hope bloomed in his heart; perhaps he was going to live through this night after all. He grinned wolfishly as he imagined Viktor’s frustration once he realized that a mere lycan had eluded his “justice” yet again. Never underestimate the craftiness of a wolf, he gloated, especially one hungry for revenge.
The light of an upraised lantern, lying directly in his path, crushed Lucian’s hopes in an instant. He skidded to a halt at the sight of an armored figure standing just before the exit he sought. A crack of lightning revealed none other than Nicolae himself, holding up the lantern in one bejeweled hand and a bloodstained sword in the other. The bodies of mutilated lycans lay sprawled on the tunnel floor behind him, half submerged beneath the departing rainwater; apparently, Lucian had not been the only lycan to retreat into the mines.